#i am gone. whipped. foaming at the mouth

[partrin]

he's so handsome, like...

i see it, haru. i see the vision. i see why it was so hard for you to give up on him throughout the series. i see why you were so emo when he left for australia the first time and after every single fight you two had. i see why your eyes light up when you see him smile.

i'd be damned if i lost a man like this.

[hsdiaries]

‘til forever

chapter three - 6.5k words

masterlist

I woke up the next morning to a text from Niall, announcing a coffee run delivery in the next fifteen minutes. I smiled stretching in bed, inhaling the scent of my clean sheets. Much of last night was spent just reorganizing my life mostly to distract from the pain I was feeling in my heart. I spent the first two hours alone, sitting on my couch and eating leftover pasta from the night before - clicking through Niall and the gang's stories on Instagram made my heart squeeze in jealousy. Still I just couldn't bring myself to face the music of continuing with life and what it meant. It was like if I tried to grab onto more of my current reality, Louis would really truly be gone forever.

Holding my phone to my chest on the couch, I spent so much time crying and begging Louis to come back, knowing it wasn't possible. "How am I supposed to live life without you, baby. God I don't know what I even want or need in life anymore. You taught me to live again, babe—now I can't find a point in it."

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking last night away from my thoughts and pushing up off my bed. I slipped my feet into my brown slippers, padding into the ensuite to wash my face and brush my teeth before Niall got here. Watching the cleanser foam up in my hands, I brought my hands up to my face, really taking my time massaging in the cleanser. The idea of washing yesterday away felt like the perfect solution to having a better day today.

Finishing up and rinsing my face, some leftover soap started to peek into my eyes. I quickly reached over for my face towel, trying to find it to wipe away the excess soap, "Fuck," I called out when I couldn't find it on its normal hook.

"Here ya go, B," I heard Louis say, feeling the towel in my hand and quickly moving to wipe away at my eyes.

"Thanks babe, it was hurting so..." I stopped wiping my face, my body stiffening up as I stood up straight. My eyes blinked open, and there staring back at me in the mirror was Louis. I quickly whipped around, no one standing there, my hand to my chest. I looked down at the towel in my hand, eyebrows furrowing, "No-no, just.."

"Normally you like to say, 'yes, please yes' but I guess people change," I heard his voice again, my eyes squeezing shut as my face moved up, one eye peeking open, a scream coming from me as Louis was standing in front of me. I threw the towel in his direction running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

I turned to face the door, backing up towards the bed until my knees hit the edge, my body sitting me down. I swallowed, shaking my head, "It's not possible…you're gone, you're not here."

"Oh but I am. You basically summoned me last night, and next thing I knew I was sitting on our couch wondering what the heavens was happening," Louis started, my head whipping to my right where he sat on the bed. I froze this time, I couldn't run, I couldn't move. It was like nothing had happened, there he was, stunning and tan as ever. Blue eyes, facial hair, annoyingly perfect smile. I could basically smell his cologne roped in cigarettes.

"I've officially lost it," I said in a whisper, my eyes not moving from him - not because I was too scared to move, but because I was too scared he wouldn't be sitting there when I looked away again.

"You haven't, bumble bee, well, a little but that's why I'm here. To help you figure it out, starting with getting you out of this bloody house," he said, his hand landing on my thigh. I felt blood rush away from me, his grip so firm and real, my hand moving down to touch him, fingers wrapping delicately around his.

"How-.." I took my hand away, pressing it to my mouth, eyes filled with tears meeting his.

"I don't know how to explain it exactly, but, I know it's not forever, and I know it happened because you obviously need me. Baby, what are you doing to yourself? Don't you realize you're hurting yourself more than helping?" He said, his body shifting more towards me.

This was all so insane, all so unrealistic it suddenly hit me that I was dreaming. That's what this was, a dream. A dream I would wake up from, only hurting me more than I was in this moment. I started crying, my eyes closing as I shook my head, "This feels so cruel, like such a cruel dream. God wake up, Bentley, wake up please, wake up!"

I repeated that same phrase over and over to myself, ignoring the feeling of Louis' hands sliding up my arms, his head pushing into my lap, "It's not a dream baby. It's not, I promise. Niall's about to get here too, love. He's entering the gate right now, moving up the steps. He stopped to take a breather, cause the fuckers in love with my baby, shaking his nerves, and here comes the doorbell."

Like clockwork it rang, buzzing through the house. I opened my eyes, Louis now on his knees in front of me, looking out the bedroom door into the hall then back at Louis. My eyes narrowed, "None of this makes sense. It just doesn't."

"I know, I'll explain tonight, okay? For now, he's got a whole day planned outside of just coffee and you have to do whatever it is he has planned. Okay? Promise me," he said with soft sincere eyes. My hands moved up to hold his face in them, thumbs running along his scruffy cheeks. He closed his eyes, sighing against my touch, turning his face and kissing my arm gently, "Go, go. He's about to start knocking."

And he did, a quick one two three. I nodded, starting to stand up, wiping at my face, "Can he-.."

"See me? No, only you. Just make something up, he'll believe anything you say," he smiled, backing up so I could walk towards the living room. I paused, buying my lip and looking back at him, "You'll come back?"

"I don't have a choice," he chuckled, and all I could do was simply nod, because I didn't understand any of it.

I shuffled quickly over to the door, opening it up to Niall in a teal and white checkered knit cardigan, Levi's and brown loafers. He pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head, concern quickly covering his face, "B, what's wrong? What's happened?"

He placed the coffees down on the hall table, hands cupping my face gently, tip of his nose gently against mine. Once he discovered this soothed me, it became our thing. He would always hum softly, usually "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole. It was a weird double edge, he knew it was me and Louis' song, but it somehow was also becoming me and Niall's. My breathing slowed, tension leaving me enough to peer up into his baby blues. He smiled at me, that familiar heat rising up between us.

"Thank you," I whispered softly, breathing out harshly before pulling away, suddenly remembering Louis' presence and his words.

"...cause the fuckers in love with my baby,"

I swallowed, looking over at the coffees, "New shop?" I said softly.

"Uh, yeah! Opened up near the gym so I thought I'd give it a try. They had a biscoff latte, which is what I got you, I know they're your favorite."

"Indeed. Thank you, Niall," I smiled as he grabbed them, handing me mine.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" He said, sipping his coffee as we made our way over to the couch. We sat close to each other, my usual need to cuddle into him completely blocked by my eyes wandering around my house, wondering where exactly Louis was now.

"Umm, I just. I stubbed my toe, and got overwhelmed at myself for doing so. Just hurt, that's all," I swallowed, looking down at my coffee, tracing the lid with my finger.

"You sure?" He asked gently, hand reaching to trace my knee softly.

"Yeah," I smiled up at him, trying my best to be reassuring.

"Well in the case you are lyin' to be me, I have come up with a grandmaster plan!" He smiled proudly at me, my head tilting slightly.

"And what would that master plan be for?" I said, intrigued, worried and confused.

"Your return to society." He smirked playfully, my eyes instantly narrowing.

"I have returned to society, I go out, I enjoy life like any other person," I huffed, sipping my coffee.

"Really? Because you spend time with your friends? Nurture relationships that need to continue existing past Louis? Ben, you have to try. And this is the perfect time, place and situation," he pleaded, reaching out and squeezing my hands.

Opening my mouth to turn him down, to shut his entire idea so far down into a trash bin he could never find it - I felt Louis' breath on my neck, his voice whispering in my ear, "You have to agree, bumble bee. You have too."

I froze, resisting the urge to move my face to look over at him. Inhaling deeply, I licked my lips nodding, "Okay."

"What?" Niall said sitting up, leaning towards me, "Come again?"

"Gladly," I chuckled, making him laugh too. "I said okay, so, tell me the plan before I change my mind."

He smiled brightly, I swear his baby blues grew a deep shade, he took our coffees placing them down on the coffee table, "Alright, so last night, we didn't just meet Mitch's new girl, which you are going to adore by the way, we also met his boss Harry and Harry's best friend Marlee. The shop apparently got the highest service award from AAA, which is a huge thing in the automotive world. So, we are all going to celebrate him this weekend, at that one arcade bar, Jack's, you know near the pier? Which I think is perfect for you, because after we eat dinner, we can seperate, you don't have to keep trying to make conversation with everyone if you don't want to. You and I will make our own night out of it - and you have two new people who don't know much about anything that happened with Lou. Won't be their main point of conversation."

I nodded as he spoke, taking in all the information he was giving me, "I mean, you're right, it would be the best environment. Everyone would be talking to Harry and Mitch about the shop more. I think it's a good night."

"And, to seal the deal, I think it should be a completely new moment for you. Meaning, new clothes, new hair, new nails, a facial! All on me, and I don't need you fighting me on this. That's what we are doing today. I'll get stuff done too. I can be a girls girl when I want," he fluttered his lashes at me, hands under his chin making me crack up.

"Come here you big lug!" I said, reaching out my arms and hugging him tightly. He laid back on the couch, pulling me on top of him, pressing a kiss into the top of my head. I let my body relax into his, wrapping my arm around his waist, "Thank you, Niall. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for how much you pushed me."

"I care for you, Ben. You know that. I would never let you go through that alone, even if you tried," his voice was gentle as his fingers traveled up and down my arm.

"I know. It just got so dark. And for a while, the dark felt comfortable," I said softly, his grip tightening on me.

"Well, you need the sun, it makes you prettier," he teased, my eyes peeking up at him and I knew he was my sun. He was the light and warmth that drew me out of the cold dark. I couldn't deny it if I tried and I knew he couldn't deny whatever it was he felt for me. It was that warmth, that flame - that I put out every time.

"I know, it makes me glow," I chuckled, pushing out of his grip, "So why don't you make me breakfast while I get dressed and then we can start the day."

"Yeah? I bring coffee and have to cook too?" He raised an eyebrow and I nodded, kissing his cheek softly. He turned a soft shade of pink, nodding, "Okay. Go, go."

He shooed me away with his hands and I pushed up, the rest of the way, running to my room to get dressed. I closed the door behind me, looking around the room as I made my way to the closet. I began searching for a simple outfit for the day, cut off jeans, a plain gray tee, some sandals since we were getting our nails done.

"Those jeans always did something for me," I heard Louis say, making me jump, clinging the clothes tight to my body.

"Louis, you can't just appear like that!" I exclaimed quietly, not wanting Niall to hear me and think I was insane, which I genuinely was starting to wonder if I was.

"I can actually, it's a nice perk," he said with a smug smile on his face, my eyes narrowing, but my knees buckling at the sight of it.

Throwing my shirt at him, I gasped as he suddenly appeared at the side of my bed instead of the foot of it, the shirt hitting the ground. I squeezed my eyes tight and then opened them again, "Okay, new rule, you can't do that! If you're going to be here, and I have to see you, I need you to act like you can't do...that!" I said pointing between him and where he was before.

He laughed his usually obnoxious laugh, a smile cracking on my face from the sound of it before I remembered my other demand, "And you need to give me some sort of warning knock, or sign that you're about to appear. I'm too young to have a heart attack."

He laughed walking over to me and nodding, hand slipping on my waist, "Can my rule be you don't get that close to Niall again?"

Those words stung, my heart dropping into my stomach. I pulled away, my brows furrowing, "That's not fair," my voice cracked, arms moving to hug myself.

His smug expression quickly went away, moving back towards me, hands wrapping around my arms and pulling them apart, moving them around his neck, hugging me close, "Hey, hey, that was...that was cruel. I'm sorry, I shoul—..."

"-...you're not here, Louis. You're not really here. You don't get to say things like that." I swallowed, his scent and warmth too real, only further confusing me. I pushed away again, inhaling deeply, "And you can't do that. You can't hold me, and touch me. Louis you can't, you're not here."

I sobbed, in a way I hadn't sobbed in a while, I felt his hand coming to me and I flinched, shaking my head, "I'm okay. Just...can you go away, please? Come back when I come home. Just, give me our taps, before you appear so I know."

"Okay, I'm sorry, B," was all he said before he was gone. I allowed myself to breathe out the last few bits of my cries, wiping at my face. I hated that I couldn't put on makeup to hide the redness of my skin, but I decided I would just have to admit to Niall I had cried. Admit it was Louis related without telling the whole truth.

I slipped into my clothes, taking in my appearance in the full length mirror as I clipped up my hair. I sniffled, tucking in my shirt into my jeans, moving to my bed to slip on my sandals. It was weird how his smell stuck around. He was essentially a ghost...a spirit, yet I could still smell him as if he really was still here. As if he still lived here with me.

Patting my thighs, I gathered the courage to face Niall, getting up from the bed and walking out to the smell of sausage, beans, toast and eggs. One thing about my house was, a classic English or Irish breakfast was a constant reoccurrence; American breakfast just lacking luster.

"Smells delicious out here, I haven't had beans for breaky in a while," I smiled, sliding next to him in the kitchen. He looked over me, his eyes softening, hand wrapping gently around my hip. I felt my body tense, Louis' words hurting my heart once again. It hurt even more when he quickly pulled his hand away at the feeling of my tension.

"What's wrong, Bentley?" He said, turning back to the stove to finish cooking. I moved to grab plates so he could serve everything up, swallowing as I gathered my thoughts together.

"Just overwhelmed a little I guess. It's new, and going to be a lot. I know I can do it. I...I went to the store, at the corner last night. Bought a bear claw and matcha, sat inside and stayed for at least thirty minutes. Actually, I had a weird encounter with a man. Not, weird exactly, that's not the right word, it was just...interesting," I said, grabbing my plate as he finished serving, both of us walking over to the table. I placed my plate down, finding where I left my coffee and bringing it over as well.

"Oh? How so?" He said, breaking off a piece of toast and dipping it in his egg.

"Well, we both wanted the chocolate croissant and reached for it at the same time. I'm weird, so obviously I freaked out and I apologized and just said he could take it. He responded, 'no drama'. No drama, Niall! No one ever said that except Louis, it had my mind going crazy." I said, turning to my breakfast and eating some beans.

"That interesting for sure. Sounds a lot like that shit you're always talking about, a cute meet of whatever," he said, biting into his sausage link.

I laughed leaning in, "You mean a meet cute?"

"Yeah, that shit!" He chuckled, covering his full mouth, making me laugh more.

"I guess it kinda was, but I'll never see him again. And even if I did, he'd be like 'there's the creepy girl from Posh Finery, let me run'," I rolled my eyes, my thoughts going back to what he looked like. Long hair, curl and unruly. Green eyes, I'm sure of it, though they might have been blue. Olive skin drawn on in black ink. He was mysterious, that's how I would describe him, relaxed but mysterious.

"Well, since you've been brave enough to go back once, I think you should do it again. Maybe you're next brave moment will be proving you aren't crazy to the man," Niall chuckled nervously and I shook my head.

"I think I'm going to limit my visits to that store to just once a month for now. I do believe I won't have to take the long way around to get home now though. I think I can handle walking in front of it," I smiled, picking up some egg on my fork and eating it.

"Well, regardless, I'm proud of you, Benny," he leaned in close, kissing my shoulder making me smile. "So how do you want today to go? What's the proper order of events?"

"Hmm, well, I think hair and nails first, because it'll tell us what the vibe of the outfit should be. Then end with facials so we can just come back to mine or yours and relax. Order some thai! Two orders of Pad See Ew and steamed rice!" I smiled into my coffee as I took a sip.

"Alright, you will lead the way then. We can uh, go back to mine. I just put up the new comforter you helped me pick out. You can come see how your good decisions look," he said nervously scratching at the back of his head.

We both knew we hadn't spent time at his place since last month. Since the night I came over too drunk to have control of my own senses. Since we slept together. Neither one of us ever addressed it directly, going through the next day as if the night before hadn't happened. He went to work, I cleaned up and left for my own job; and that's where it stayed.

"I bet it brought out the earth tones of your room just like I suggested it would, didn't it?" I raised both eyebrows at him, he shrugged.

"You'll just have to see for yourself."

I watched her spin in front of the mirror, her new chocolate brown hair replacing her previously highlighted hair twirling with her. She had cut it off, adding clipped in extensions so she could keep changing up her look if she wanted. Her brown eyes had so much more life in them than I had seen since Louis passed. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face watching her glow like this.

"So what do you think? I think it's bar material, cute girly, will keep boys away," she giggled, smoothing her palms against the silk flower print skirt, a tied-up band tee on her upper body. It was very much a Bentley Rose outfit.

"It's very you, and I don't think there is anything that would keep the men away from you Ben," I chuckled, my fingers running through my hair.

"Well, that's why it's a good thing I'm a runner!" She winked at me, turning back to the mirror giving herself one final look over before turning back to me, "Alright I'm going to change so we make it on time for our facials."

I stood up, smoothing out my jeans, walking out of the small fitting area and venturing into the store. I found the graphic tees and pulled out two or three more I knew she would like in her size, holding onto them to add to the final bill.

"Is this where you often buy your clothing?" I heard a voice say, my eyes popping up to meet cat-like hazel greens.

"Oh! Marlee, hey, no, they're for Ben, she's getting dressed, in the fitting room," I smiled, a small laugh coming from her.

"I'm teasing. You just missed Harry, he ran off to work," she smiled, folding a pair of jeans over her arm.

"That's too bad, you both could have met Bentley, but, since you're here, might as well introduce you! Might help her feel even more comfortable about coming out this weekend," I smiled, glancing over at the dressing room to see if she was coming out yet.

"Oh so you convinced her? That's awesome! Harry and Sarah kinda broke the situation down for me, I'm sorry, that's really tough!" Marlee said, leaning on one hip.

"Ah, well um, could you pretend to not know and not ask her questions? Or say you're sorry or any of that. Part of the whole speech I gave her included the fact you two knew nothing. You know? Sometimes it helps being around people who just—..."

"Won't treat her like a suffering child?" Marlee chimed, a cute smirk on her face.

"Exactly that!" I pointed at her as I turned again to see Bentley coming out of the dressing room. I waved her over and she tried to peek around me, nodding before slowly walking over.

"Don't worry, my lips are sealed," Marlee said quickly before Bentley reached us.

"Hey, who's this," she smiled warmly, her hand quickly on my arm, nerves clear as day.

"Ben, this is Marlee, Harry's best friend I was telling you about, Marlee this is Bentley," I said, introducing the two, Marlee picking up on Ben's nervous cues and moving close to us, embracing her quickly so she didn't have time to think.

"It's nice to meet you! I'm really excited for this weekend," Marlee smiled as she pulled away, Ben chuckling.

"I'm actually excited too, just picked out a cute outfit, so, you know, makes it even more eventful," Bentley chuckled.

"That's why I'm here too, I love a good excuse to shop. Though, it simply being Tuesday is something I often use as an excuse," she rolled her eyes at herself, Ben and I laughing.

"I used to be like that too, but with band tees. I would make them work for every event," Ben smiled over at me then at Marlee.

"That explains the collection Niall is holding in his hand right now!" Marlee exclaimed, making Ben's brows furrow her eyes dropping to my hands.

"Niall what's all that!" She said, reaching for them as I pulled away.

"Does not matter! There was no limit to today, and so they are coming home with ya too!" I smiled, Ben glaring at me more.

"Limit?" Marlee said, looking between the two of us.

"Niall thought that a refresh was what I needed to make it through this weekend. He kindly paid for my hair, nails. I'm getting a new outfit. Thought it would help me think of this as a new start," Ben said shyly, looking down at her feet.

"Wait, that's the sweetest thing. Niall, can you give Harry tips on how to be a better best friend please? I'll be lucky if he buys me an ice cream!" She exclaimed, making us all laugh.

"I will make sure to give him some points of advice, don't you worry!" I chuckled as Ben and I exchanged looks.

"So I hate to rush us off, but if we don't leave now, we won't make it to our facials on time," Ben said gently, Marlee's hand waving us off.

"No, go go! I'll see you all Saturday! Bye!" She smiled, quickly moving to hug the both of us before walking away.

"Niall!" Ben exclaimed once she had completely walked away, our bodies moving as the line did.

"What?" I said, confused by why she looked to be in disbelief.

"She's so pretty! Niall, like, she's just your type. You shou—...."

"...—Ben stop." I quickly interrupted, my brows furrowing.

"What? Niall, I'm just saying. She's what you would always go for before. I think you should ask her—..."

"...—Bentley stop."

"Ni, are you mad? I'm sorry I didn't—..."

"...—please just go wait for me outside. Please, I need space. Just go." I said, looking away from her, staring at the back of the head of the person in front of me.

"Okay." I heard her say, feeling her walk away from me. I bit my lip, feeling my anger building up in me. I hated when she did this, when she pretended like she wasn't aware of what I felt, what was there. I knew we never talked about it, but I hated that she ignored where we had just been last month. Intertwined, close in a way no two friends ever should be.

I finished paying and moved to walk out of the store, seeing her waiting toward the left exit. I walked past her quickly, not wanting to talk or face her. I couldn't at this moment, but I knew she wouldn't just let it go.

"Niall, please stop, please," she called out, my chest tight. I came to a stop, turning to face her, but not letting her speak.

"You don't get to do this, Bentley. You don't get to act like you aren't aware of my feelings for you. I know we don't discuss it, we ignore it, and I will always push it aside because you are my best friend first…but you can't do that. You can't," I expressed, my voice slightly raised. It was something I never did with, but my anger couldn't control itself at that moment.

"Hey, hey," she came up to me, hands on my face softly, pulling my forehead down to hers, "I know, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Brown and blue met and it was insane how quickly my anger melted away. She smiled softly at me, narrowing her eyes playfully, making me chuckle. I shook my head, eyes closing as I groaned in slight irritation, "You can't look at me like that."

"I did nothing, all I did was say I'm sorry," she said quietly, her thumbs tracing my cheeks softly. I pulled away, taking her in, her eyes still apologetic.

"Just please, don't bring it up again," I said one more time, her head quickly nodding in agreement.

"Never again. I promise."

Dinner at Niall's had gone by much smoother than shopping, I tried my best to keep him happy and laughing; making up for my asshole antics earlier. I knew Niall liked me, I was well aware of his feelings towards me. We both were aware of it all, yet living in denial until moments like earlier today brought light to it. I was thankful, him and I could move past it quickly and just be ourselves, cracking jokes all night.

When it finally was time to leave, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, walking away with just me and my nerves about the whole Louis situation. For most of the day, I was able to ignore what had happened this morning, what I had seen. I was almost able to imagine that it didn't happen. Truth was, I wasn't sure if it really had.

I waited patiently for my Uber driver, getting in once she finally approached, leaning my head on the car window. I took in the city, wondering how anyone could ever live any other place than here in California. I shook my head, remembering how much Louis hated it. Hated the crowds, the traffic. The people.

"But you make California worth it bumble bee."

Biting my lip, I looked down at my phone, the drive almost complete and I couldn't stop my stomach from churning. Pulling up at my front gate I smiled, thanking the driver and getting inside. I opened the door slowly, knowing he wouldn't be there but still not wanting to be surprised.

I went through my usual motions of getting home, shoes off, outside clothes off, Louis' old band tee and boxer briefs. Walking into the kitchen, I grabbed my bottle of cab and two wine glasses. I laughed at myself for doing so, but I didn't know what exactly was possible. I still didn't even know how him being here was possible.

Settling myself on top of the kitchen counter, I closed my eyes, breathing softly, "Okay. Um, Louis, you can come out now, or appear or whatever."

I looked down at my feet shaking my head in disbelief, a breathy laugh leaving me when I heard our knock in the hallway. A quick one two, one two, one two. I heard his footsteps, as he appeared out of the hallway, dressed in white loungewear, like he always would have been. It sent shivers down my spine, my stomach knotting in this constant state of confusion I felt trapped in.

"Hey, bumble bee," he smiled small, keeping his distance.

"Hi, sweet boy," I sighed out, pushing out the kitchen stool for him, just like we would always hang out after work - catching up on the day.

"Have a good day? I tried to not be nosy," he said walking over and sitting on the stool, hands rubbing against his thighs.

"Appreciative of that, but yeah, it was a good one," I shrugged, playing with the bottom of his shirt.

"Hair looks great. I miss the blonde, the blonde stripe things, though," he said so nervously I wondered who this man before me was.

"Highlights babe, but thanks. It honestly feels so healthy now though, even if half of it is extensions…makes the change feel right," I said, chewing on my inner cheek and turning to face the bottle of wine. I reached over, popping the cork off and serving one glass before turning to look back at Louis, "I'm not exactly sure how this works…like can I serve you a glass?"

We both stared at each other before bursting into laughter, "Honestly? I haven't a fucking clue." He shrugged, as I turned my body back to the wine glass, pouring him one as well. I handed it to him, his fingers brushing against mine felt so right yet, so strange.

We both eyed each other as he brought the glass to his lips, almost scared as to what would happen next. Would it just work its way through his body onto the floor? Would he be able to taste it? I watched as he licked his lips, tipping the glass towards him, the wine spilling into his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he drank.

"Holy shit. I tasted that!" He exclaimed, so surprised and happy. His eyes looked around him, almost as if he expected it to have gone straight to the floor.

"This is all so...Louis this is insane, I just don't get it. What is happening? How are you here? How's this even possible?" I said, inhaling deeply as we searched each other's eyes.

He drank more of his wine, cracking his neck before he spoke, "I heard you crying, B. I heard you begging almost for me and next thing I knew I was here. I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to scare you. So I tried to go elsewhere and I couldn't. I could only go wherever you went. It wasn't until you asked me to go away that I realized I could then go away from here. But, it's not back to wherever the hell I went when I died…there is more of me here, and I got sent with those people. People like me that were called back to help their loved ones deal with it all. And I can't go back until we sort it all out."

"Sort what out?" I said, raising a small eyebrow.

"Your life babe, moving on. All of that. Helping you to learn to love again," he said the last part softly, pushing his lips out, pursed slightly as he shook his head, eyes drifting down to the wine glass in his hand.

"Oh...but I don't want to—..."

"—you don't want to but it's going to happen. I already know with who, I already know when. I'm just here to make sure that you don't fight it. I'm just here to make sure that you don't try to avoid what's supposed to happen." He swallowed looking up at me again, my heart moving to my throat.

There was a strangeness to all of this; something awkward and almost painful - the idea that he would have to be the one to guide me back into love. Which in return meant, guiding me out of love with him.

"But I'm not ready...Lou, I'm just not," I said, taking a long sip of my wine and looking away. I heard him stand up, moving towards me, the shock still present as I felt his touch on my jaw; turning me to face him.

"Baby, but you will be. That's what you have to understand. I've seen it all. Doesn't make it easy on me either...trust me - but I want to see you happy," he smiled softly, thumb gently tracing my jawline.

"This is all too much," biting back tears, I got up, leaving my glass of wine behind and pushing past him. My arms crossed in front of me, hugging my body. I wanted to keep the pain inside my body, I didn't want it to escape me because it felt like it would destroy me if I let it. I felt as if my body would ache to the point of giving out completely.

Louis came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist pulling me tight to him. I broke down into a sob, my body giving into his whole as he kissed my cheek over and over.

"It's okay, bumble bee, let it out. Cry baby, I got you, I got your pain," he whispered, soothing my cries. I don't how long we stood there, most of my weight being held up by him. My knees felt like they crumbled everytime I tried to stand up on my own, and truth was, I never properly learned how. Since he passed, I was walking on the crutches built by Niall and his unwavering support of me. I hadn't progressed like he thought. I was walking around with a broken heart, faking every moment of "improvement" the world saw.

I let my hands slip around his arms, feeling his skin, the bits of raised skin from all his ink engravings. I came to my senses slowly, turning my face to take him in. Our breaths mixed, creating a scent that was all too familiar. A scent that reflected a shared taste of us two.

"Louis, it was supposed to be you," I bit my lip and he nodded.

"I know, baby. I know bumble bee. Oh baby, trust me I know. But it's not. I'm not your person. I was for a moment in time, we can't get back now. So I need you to not make this harder, okay?" He spoke to me so sincerely, so softly I just closed my eyes and cried more, nodding softly.

He spun me around gently, embracing me and kissing my forehead over and over, "Trust me you are happy in the end, okay?"

"It just doesn't feel possible right now, Lou. It doesn't feel like something I even can imagine," I sighed out, allowing myself to nuzzle my face into his neck, kissing it softly. He sighed out, nodding with nothing else to say.

Neither one of us had anything left to say the rest of the night. We sat, finishing the bottle of wine in silence. I pondered over today's events, the situation with Niall, Louis' words. I couldn't help but wonder if in some weird way, my mom was right. If Niall really was the one, if all this tragically happened just so that we could be together.

My eyes traveled up to Louis, sitting on his spot on the couch we bought. His eyes flickered to mine, smiling small, "Yes, Bee?"

"You can't tell me who?"

He chuckled and shook his head, "Nope. Just gotta let destiny do its thing."

"Okay," I breathed out, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Okay."

[dojae-huh]

Somehow I couldn't help but think that Taeyong called Doyoung (the one he mentioned in the JaeDo content which he had the longest call with him), is kind of passing over the baton to Doyoung as the temporary leader and sort of gave him reminders and checklists for the group. Then the phonecall to Jaehyun was sort of a "Doyoung is gonna be the leader temporarily while I'm gone and you know how he is, so I am calling you to check up on him and assist him in every way you can." Let's be honest, none in ilichil has leadership ability aside from Taeyong and Doyoung. The rest are too happy to settle with their respective roles. Mark can be, but he's the youngest so it will not work well with 127's age hierarchy. Doyoung is the one assertive enough to assume the role (Doyoung is a natural leader), and we all know Jaehyun is a reliable person (especially when it comes to Doyoung.)

Heh. You are venturing into a very imaginative land, I'm afraid.

Taeyong just called to talk about everything what was happening with him. He needs to share. When members are not available, he goes to his fans and does lives after midnight or for 3 hours straight. Do mimiced how he only had room to say "uhum" and "yes".

127 discussed what they are going to do before Tae's enlistment. Yuta, JN and Do mentioned it. Members talked about how Jungwoo wanted to be the leader, to start the opening greeting. Everyone assured fans that they have a vision and plans.

Do already knows when he will go into the military. I'm positive it is more or less known for Jae as well. During NCT2020 activity, when Tae was absent due to his back injury, Doyoung was the leader of the whole group, not just the unit.

Haechan has the ability. He leads the dance practices often. Noone will listen to Mark.

Leadership in 127 has never been uni-polar. After Do joined it has always been 2 people (Tae and Do) with the occasional help of 3 (Hyuk, JN and Jae). Tae's solo stans can foam at their mouths, it won't change the reality of it. Heck, Taeyong talked about how even during trainee days TaeDo whipped everyone with the goal to debut (playing the roles of strict and kind parents respectively).

All 127 members are grown up and invested in the unit enough now to not need a lot of active leadership (waking up, making others work, be motivated, get along, etc). The big change is in the shift into the enlistment period, not seeing certain memebrs for 2 years at a time, the weigth of being an "old group", the psychological side of thie new era for the members. It would be a change in the terms of leadership if Taeyong was the only member to be the mediator between the management and the group (what he had to to in the very beginning), and he was not.

I'm not saying Taeyong won't worry and won't ask about how the things are going. However, the members' parting words for Tae were a wish for him to rest from the leader's burden and worries about the group's success. He will be shielded and kept in the dark, if there will be a need.

[eykismyfav]

Hi can you please do more no way home villains interacting with reader? I think your concept is really fun and I'd love to see more of that in the future!

Requested: Yes! Anon.

Genre: Fluff and Chaos

Warnings: Swearing

Pairing: NWH Villains x reader Platonic

Characters: Norman Osborn, Max Dillon, Otto Octavius, Flint Marko, Curt Connors, Peter Parker all three of them, Ned, and Doctor Strange

Authors note: Hi Lovely! Thank you so much for saying you enjoy the concept I love writing it. Of course I can write more! So I am Posting this because I had a very limited amount of time to write. Of course my request are still open but there will likely be a significant delay at least until my work load calms down a little. Thank you guys for understanding. 

No actual NWH spoilers but hey if you haven't seen the movie yet maybe don’t read but I won’t stop you. Mostly Vine references.

Marvel Preference Masterlist

You were in a band?

Y/N: *yelling from across the living room* Get on top of the fridge!

Tom!Peter: *Yelling back* This house is a fucking nightmare!!! *Jumps up sticking to the ceiling*

Strange: *Face palms*

Literally everyone else in the room: *Looks around hopelessly not understanding the reference*

Andrew!Peter: Wait! Y/N were you in the band with Peter was that one of the inside jokes.

Y/N: *Deeply offended* Peter you were in a band and didn’t tell me!!!

Bark meaner than his bite! (Continuation from last random moments) 

Y/N: *Still has a child leash on Norman (Otto learned and does not need one anymore.)*  

Norman: *Very unhappy*

Ned: *Walking down the street minding his own business trying to be friendly* Hey how y’all... 

Norman: *Snarl and almost starts to foam at the mouth which you still don’t understand how he does it*

Ned: *Screeches* AHHHH GET YOUR FUCKING DOG BITCH!!!!

Y/N: *physically holding Norman back* He don’t bite...

Ned: YES IT DO!!! *Starts to run the other way*

Y/N: *Smacks Norman on the back of the head* Was that really necessary?

Norman: *Whipping his mouth* Yes.

Find me somebody to love (or at the very least not want to strangle)

Strange: *Exasperated* Do not touch that!

Y/N: *Walking back into the Sanctum to retrieve their idiots* The next person to touch something doesn’t get cuddles for a week and no good night forehead kiss tonight!

Everyone: *Stops touching shit and form a line in front of you*

Strange: *Looks at you completely dumbfounded* How I have been trying to get them to behave for hours?

Y/N: It’s a gift. Also I was also only gone for half an hour. *patting Strange on the back* They can be a handful thank you for watching them. *You give him a kiss on the cheek*

Strange: *Blushing a little* As long as they are out of the sanctum.

Y/N: As you wish... come on guys. *You escort them back to your apartment*

Tag- List @simsiddy @happypixy380 @starkiller-queen

[cakers-2000]

~"You're an idiot, you know that?"~ (Miya X Fem!Reader)

I would die for Miya Chinen

Miya Chinen protection squad, let us assemble.

He's too precious for this world.

Uh but anyway I'm hyperfixating on this show and Miya really bad so have this scenario that I whipped up rather quickly.

(Warning: A bit of foul language!)

Word count: 1.1k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had always surprised you that the people and competitors in the S community welcomed you with open arms. You weren’t a skateboarder, you knew next to nothing about the sport but they accepted as their own.

You always felt like you had a home among the many members of the community, they had always been so nice to you. Though you wanted to believe that this was because they were just nice and welcoming people, you knew this most likely wasn’t true, (except for maybe Reki and Langa). The real answer was most likely due to the fact that you were Miya Chinen’s girlfriend. You only found yourself at S to support him and his endeavors but truth be told you had grown to love it there.

Though the Miya you knew seemed to be completely different from the one the other skateboarders knew. He was such a kind and sweet soul to you, but it seemed the other skaters didn’t think of him as such.

It was almost a weekly activity to join him a few times at night to the old mines S was located in. He’d take a small break from the skating scene to walk with you towards the starting line, your fingers intertwined as you walked together. Though during these times his attention was never focused on you, instead he would survey the crowd and try to get a read on his ‘competition’. But you didn’t mind, just being able to hold his hand was enough for you.

But sooner rather than later you had to let go of the warmth that always radiated from him and step aside so that he could race. You’d take your normal spot next to Langa and Reki and watch the show begin.

Tonight was just like any other. The stroll to the starting line, the sit down and cheer with Reki and Langa, and then joining Shadow at the finish line to welcome him with the normal hugs, pats on the back and kisses (only from you of course, though you wouldn’t deny Reki had indeed tried to slip one on the younger boys cheek to mock him, which didn’t end well for the older boy).

“Oh wow, look at him go, the dude’s got him cornered! I haven’t seen anyone corner Miya like this since the race with Langa!”

As usual Reki was practically foaming at the mouth as he watched the two skate, most likely itching to be racing right alongside them.

“You really think so?”

You were just as entranced on the screen as Reki. you really hadn’t seen Miya struggle with a win like this since his race with Langa. You could see Langa staring at the two of you out of the corner of your eye. He looked rather surprised, maybe he thought differently then the two of you. You slowly leaned yourself backwards to rest on a crate behind you. You weren’t particularly worried. Miya was one of the best, and everyone knew it. He would pull through in the end, he always did.

“Ugh this is so lame.” Your interest was piqued as you heard another man speak to a group a few feet away from you. “This is all so bs. That kid is only good because he cheats to win.”

You could feel your blood boiling just at hearing the allegations these men were throwing about your boyfriend. Your body tensed and you slightly stood yourself back upwards and continued to listen.

“Like that time he raced Shadow. There’s no way he could’ve won without some kind of cheating. He’s probably getting in the poor dudes head right now as we speak.”

“What the hell.”

With all of your patience gone you stormed your way towards the men, unbeknownst to the rest of your group of friends. You weren’t going to let them get away with tarnishing Miya like that, especially when he wasn’t here to defend himself.

“(Y/N) it looks like he’s pulling ahead! I think he’s gonna win this!”

Upon not hearing a response from you Reki glanced to his side and a wave of panic hit him. Oh god where were you!? He was so so so dead if he lost you in this crowd.

“What the hell did you say to me you little bitch!?”

The shouting beside him was the key indicator for where you went. A long sigh escaped his lips, all focus on the race now gone and he practically sprinted towards you, Langa following as well.

“I said to take back what you said! Miya doesn’t cheat, he never has you jackass!”

“Oh you’re asking for it kid!”

You were so blinded with your own emotions you hadn’t even considered the possibility of danger, but now here it was right in front of you as this man wound his fist, ready to attack and you could do nothing but cower and brace yourself for impact.

“(Y/N)!”

The hit never came. Instead it was the sound of wheels grinding to a halt and a brush of wind past you. You slowly but surely opened one of your eyes to get a glimpse at what had just saved you, only to be greeted by a familiar green sweater and black hair.

Miya had managed to place himself in between the two of you, board raised slightly above his head so that the man's fist clashed rather harshly into the wood of the bottom. If looks could kill this man would have been dead a hundred times over. He wanted to speak, he wanted to cuss this man out, to give him what he deserved but a small tug at his clothes brought him back to his senses and he turned rather quickly to face you.

Reki had already stepped in to deal with the man Miya had fended off so he had nothing left to worry about but you. His board clashed to the floor and his hand instinctively fell to your cheeks, gently caressing and examining every inch of your face. His emerald orbs shone with nothing but worry and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you alright!? He didn’t hurt you did he?”

“No, no I’m okay Miya.” Your hand fell to rest on top of his in an attempt to reassure the poor boy. He was probably just as frightened as you after all. “Thanks to you.”

You could see a small dust of pink form on his cheeks before a small sigh escaped him and he moved one of his hands to instead run his fingers through your hair, eyes still full of concern. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

A small giggle escaped your lips and you moved your wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace. A small hum of satisfaction escaped him as he moved his free hand to wrap around your waist and continue to play with your hair, it had always been rather soothing to him.

“But who’s idiot am I?”

The blush on his cheeks worsened still but he responded, voice barely above a whisper as he placed a sweet kiss to the top of your head. “Mine…”

[simplyclockwork]

I love what you did with Sherlock stuck in the window frame. Sherlock trying to be arch and aloof still but a bit defeated and John caring and meeting Sherlock’s needs. I’d love to have a fic that is John shaving Sherlock (out of some sort of medical necessity) but it leads to intimacy or the promise of intimacy in the future. I know John shaving Sherlock has been done before, but I’m sure your take on it would add hugely to the greater good!

Hey anon! Thanks so much for your patience. I've finally filled this prompt. You can read it below the page break or on Ao3 here!

Please feel free to send future prompts anytime as long as you don't mind waiting a while for the fill.

Thank you :)

---

“Stop fidgeting,” John snapped as Sherlock wriggled for the umpteenth time under his ministrations.

Sherlock stopped with a huff. “I need to check on my experiment,” he protested, though he remained perfectly still. “You’re taking too long, John. You shave like a man who has never handled a blade before.”

“I may have handled a gun far more than a blade, but that doesn’t mean I won’t accidentally lop off your ear if you don’t sit bloody well still!” John gripped Sherlock’s shoulder and pressed him more firmly into the kitchen chair. “Lord above, are there snakes in your pants?”

“Hurry up, John!” Sherlock snarled, squirming once more.

John, trying valiantly to keep Sherlock from slitting his own throat on the razor pressed against the vulnerable expanse of his skin, jerked the blade back. “Christ, Sherlock, stop moving! The sooner you shut up and sit still, the sooner this will be over with.” He shot a baleful glare at the cluttered surface of their kitchen table. “What kind of experiment are you doing with one working hand — non-dominant, might I add — anyway?”

“One surely beyond your simple mind,” Sherlock replied peevishly, making John roll his eyes.

“You and your miserable mood can both sod off,” John grumbled, biting back harsher words and making a concerted effort to soften his reprimand.

Sherlock had been absolutely horrid ever since he’d broken nearly every bone in his dominant hand in a brawl with a murder suspect. The man had slammed his foot down on Sherlock’s hand when Sherlock slipped on the rain-wet street during their tussle. Recovery had been a slow and painful process as the splinted hand turned alarming shades of black and blue while the bones and tendons healed. John couldn’t honestly blame Sherlock for his mood, but that didn’t make him easier to deal with. He struggled with even the most basic tasks, leaving John to support him in mundane functions. It had begun to wear on them both — Sherlock far more than John as he took repeated blows to his independence — bringing out Sherlock’s nastier side.

Which brought them to that morning, to John’s day off from the surgery. He'd been woken just shy of six am by a petulant Sherlock, who had insisted that his stubble had grown far too coarse to abide any longer. He’d stood — loomed, more like — over John as John blinked the sleep from his eyes and watched Sherlock scratch agitatedly at his stubbly jaw, chin and cheeks. Now, here they were, with John making a valiant effort to shave Sherlock’s face while Sherlock squirmed with the force of five hundred angry snakes.

“Do I really have to do this with a straight razor?” John asked for the fifth time, already knowing Sherlock’s answer before it was bit out through bared teeth.

“Disposable razors are a farce,” Sherlock said, muscles flexing under his damp skin as his jaw clenched. “I require a closer shave, which is only possible with a straight razor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John sighed, just as he had the four times before. “I know. Well, if you want me to do this, then you need to bloody well sit fucking still so I don’t cut your throat. Not even you would enjoy that murder.”

Sherlock muttered something that John missed.

“What?”

“I said, it would be manslaughter, not murder,” Sherlock snapped. “It’s only murder when it is premeditated.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, struggling not to lose the tenuous hold he still retained on his temper. “Who says it wouldn’t be premeditated?” John prayed for patience and opened his eyes again. “Stop clenching your teeth,” he ordered, smoothing his fingertips over Sherlock’s tense jaw. Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and tensed more, making John sigh. ���You’re impossible.”

“Just shave my face, John,” Sherlock muttered, some of the aggression mysteriously gone from his voice as he closed his eyes.

John shrugged and smoothed more shaving cream where his first application had dried. Sliding his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, John gently tilted his head back over the table and bent to set the razor against Sherlock’s skin. As he did, the sharp edge brushing Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock swallowed, making his throat bob beneath the blade. John paused warily, eyes fixed on the subtle motion. It seemed deeply vulnerable to him, inspiring an unexpected surge of protectiveness that caught him off guard.

He was still reeling with it when Sherlock cracked open one eye and squinted at him. “Something wrong?”

Did John imagine it, or did Sherlock’s voice sound strained? He studied the familiar face, searching for clues. But Sherlock had closed both eyes again, his expression perfectly blank.

“I haven’t got all day, John,” he reminded him sharply, though his voice lacked its earlier bite.

“Right,” John said, clearing his throat. He shook his head, banishing the strange feelings. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your incredibly important tinkering.”

“Experiment, John,” Sherlock corrected him, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite his admonishment.

“Mhm.” John refocused, his feelings of confusion somewhat settled by the familiar cant of their banter. He hesitated over Sherlock’s throat and decided to start somewhere else. Setting the blade at the top of Sherlock’s cheek, John carefully drew the razor’s edge through the shaving cream. It was much fancier than his own brand, which came in a can and looked more like whipping cream than shaving material. Predictably, Sherlock’s came from a bar, complete with a rounded brush to spread the lather. It smelled like pine and explained some of what John had come to think of as Sherlock’s natural scent.

Reigning in his wandering thoughts, his brow furrowed, John wiped the blade clean and set it back to Sherlock’s skin. He cleared a strip next to the first, pausing only when his left hand gave a slight twitch. John cursed his intermittent tremour silently, retracing the same area to erase the few spots he’d missed. A stubborn fleck of dried lather remained in his path, and John reached out to smooth it away with his thumb. Sherlock’s cheek twitched at the touch. John paused, thumb resting on Sherlock’s skin, when he saw that Sherlock’s eyes were open. Half-open, to be exact, with dark silver peeking out beneath his long, lowered lashes.

Something about that gaze froze John in place, the moment stretching out until he broke free with a quiet, awkward cough. Ducking his head to clean the blade again, John bought himself time, fussing with the flannel until he looked up again and saw that Sherlock’s eyes were closed once more. A relieved sigh escaped him before he could bite it back, and John was glad to see Sherlock didn’t react or comment on the sound.

He returned to his task with far more care, gritting his teeth at even the idea of his hand twitching. The rest of the foam disappeared gradually beneath John’s determined hand, revealing more and more of Sherlock’s damp, freshly-shaven face. Sherlock sat mostly still throughout, finally settled, his expression oddly peaceful. If not for the occasional shifting of his legs — crossing and uncrossing at the thigh whenever John paused to wipe the blade clean — he might have been a statue.

“Aright,” John finally said once Sherlock’s face was clear. “Just your throat left. Make sure not to move.”

“I’m not a toddler,” Sherlock grumbled, frowning at John’s incredulous laugh. He didn’t bother to reply, and John hoped that meant he would do as bid.

Taking a deep, calming breath, John braced a hand on the chair back, trying to find the right angle. It was awkward, and he reconsidered. After a moment of hesitation, he shook off his anxiety and cupped Sherlock’s jaw at the hinge. Sherlock’s eyes flew open at the contact, clearly startled, his lips parting around a small gasp. To John’s immense relief, he held still otherwise.

John chose to ignore the odd reaction, gently tilting Sherlock’s head back and to the side as he maneuvered the blade up the side of Sherlock’s throat. John did so with great care, tongue caught between his teeth, scared of slipping. All the while, he could feel Sherlock’s gaze on him, a burning point of scrutiny that John struggled not to squirm beneath. Instead, he wiped the blade and tilted Sherlock’s head again, repeating the movement.

Sherlock was silent as the grave throughout. The only sounds in the kitchen were his loud breathing and the slick, rasping scrape of the blade as it scored stubble from skin. The moment held a strange intimacy, like the two of them existed in a bubble, removed from the world with only each other for contact.

John was starting to think he might be going mad before he slid his hand to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and cupped the base of his skull to tilt his head back. As he did so, Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut, and his throat jumped with an audible swallow. Startled, John’s grip tightened momentarily in the damp curls caught beneath his fingers, and Sherlock jolted with a quiet groan. The reaction was so visceral that John froze, staring down at Sherlock’s upturned face. His eyes were tightly shut, face screwed up in a grimace that looked strangely close to horrified.

“Sherlock?” John asked quietly, confused. Sherlock didn’t answer, just remained stiff and still. Under his hand, John thought he could feel a slight, constant tremour rippling through Sherlock. Brow furrowed, he studied Sherlock’s tightly wound body, gaze pausing on Sherlock’s legs, crossed together in a vice grip at the thigh. Was Sherlock…? No, that couldn’t be it. Surely John was misreading the situation. “Are you alright?” he prompted, and Sherlock sucked in a loud, shaky breath.

“I’m excellent, John,” he said in a strained voice, still with his eyes closed. “Are you nearly finished?”

“Just about,” John replied, trying and failing to shake off his growing suspicion. Clearly, Sherlock didn’t want to draw attention to whatever was happening to him. John could respect that. He’d had massages before. Some touches felt unexpectedly nice, and things happened with one’s body that one couldn’t always control. It was perfectly natural — though John had never thought of Sherlock as someone who felt ‘natural’ urges.

“Relax,” he said, waiting for Sherlock to stop clenching his jaw and facial muscles. It took a moment before everything slowly eased. However, Sherlock’s lower body remained steel-tense, and John could still feel those minute tremours beneath his hand. But Sherlock didn’t speak, keeping his eyes shut, so John didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he returned to the task at hand. Gently tugging at Sherlock’s curls to tilt his head back, John exposed the underside of Sherlock’s throat and jaw as he angled the blade at the edge of the lather. With the heel of his hand pressed against Sherlock’s skin to steady his grip, John felt the subtle twitch of muscle underneath as Sherlock swallowed again, his breath catching. Rather than let that strange, slight stutter catch him off guard again, John swiped the blade up, taking the last of the lather with it in one smooth, rasping stroke.

Then, following some instinct John couldn’t name, he set aside the blade and laid his hand over the freshly-shaved skin. Sherlock gasped at the contact, blood rushing into his face and darkening his pale cheeks. The touch was light, John’s fingers barely brushing the blade-reddened skin, but Sherlock’s response was like a man run through with an electric current, his body jolting from head to toe.

John held perfectly still, waiting to see what Sherlock might do, expecting him to pull away and rush off back to his experiment. But he did neither, sitting perfectly still — save for the tiny shivers twitching through his body — under John’s touch.

Emboldened by that silent faith, John swept his fingertips down the strip of skin he’d just shaved, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of his caress. Sherlock’s shiver increased, the colour infusing his face darkening to a deeper, tantalizing flush. John watched, enchanted, as Sherlock’s eyebrows drew together, then upward and back down as a myriad of complex expressions flitted across his face. He turned his hand, cupping the side of Sherlock’s neck, tracing the rough line of Sherlock’s bobbing throat with the pad of his thumb, just to see what would happen.

Sherlock’s lips parted around a sigh that sounded both startled and strained, the tension in his face first intensifying, then easing slowly, as John repeated the motion. He stroked Sherlock’s throat in slow, smooth passes, his work-roughened skin catching briefly on the damp terrain. Under his fingertips, pressed below Sherlock’s jaw, John felt the soft vibration of Sherlock’s whimper, voiced from deep within his throat.

“Never realized you were so sensitive,” John murmured, awed and hardly noticing the blurred lines of their friendship passing them both by. Sherlock seemed even less cognizant of the change, head tilted back as he pressed into John’s touch, offering and baring his throat in a shocking display of trust.

It was that which nearly undid John entirely. But what erased the last of his hesitation was Sherlock’s eyelids fluttering open to reveal his darkened gaze. His pupils were blown wide, almost erasing the silvery shade of his irises.

“John,” he croaked in a voice as jagged as broken glass. His head was tilted back far enough that it nearly rested on the table behind him, the science equipment scattered over the surface seemingly forgotten for the moment.

The sound of his name, spoken with such desperation, cleared the last of John’s confusion. He let go of the last remnants of his denial, of his enforced blindness of how Sherlock was reacting to him. Because he was reacting to John, that much was clear, and there was no mistaking the meaning of that reaction.

Without speaking or wasting time on words, John cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and bent down to brush their lips together. It was a bare ghost of contact, a tentative drifting of mouths, but Sherlock’s response was definite. He groaned and surged upward, his uninjured hand tangling in John’s hair and pulling him closer. Their noses bumped clumsily, Sherlock’s teeth scraping John’s bottom lip before their mouths slotted together in a fierce kiss. It was sloppy, turning even more so when Sherlock’s lips parted, and his tongue darted out.

John responded in kind, tasting Sherlock’s eager gasp as their tongues met. Sherlock panted against his mouth, the sound desperate and rushing in John’s ears. They kissed until their need for air grew too great, some uncounted seconds that broke as John turned his face to suck in a loud inhale, his lungs burning. Sherlock gasped in sympathy against his cheek before turning John’s face back to his to reclaim his mouth in another kiss. There was the sharp drag of teeth again, the sleek, hot press of tongue and lips, and Sherlock’s hand sliding out of John’s hair, down his nape to his broad shoulders. His splinted hand hovered, ineffective, just in front of John’s chest.

“Sherlock,” John murmured, forcing himself to think through the fog of arousal quickly obscuring his thoughts. “Sherlock, wait.”

They broke apart at once, Sherlock jerking his head back. His eyes were wide, pupils huge, his face twisting into an expression of watchful uncertainty. John — who realized he had, at some point, settled onto Sherlock’s spread thighs — blinked at that expression. Something very close to fear flickered in Sherlock’s blackened gaze, prompting a soft tsk from John.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, reaching out to smooth a tangled curl back from Sherlock’s forehead. “Everything is fine.”

Some of the tension in Sherlock’s rigid body — though not all — eased. “Is it?” he asked, his typically cultured voice turned rough. Less smooth velvet, more gravel. John thought he could get used to that change.

“Absolutely,” John murmured, offering a crooked smile. “Absolutely fine. But maybe we should, ah, slow down?”

Sherlock blinked up at him, hands settled on John’s waist, his forehead creased with a puzzled frown. “Why?”

John tilted his head and chuckled. “Well… I mean, we’ve only just had our first kiss. Are you sure you want to rush into things?”

A quiet scoff escaped Sherlock’s full lips. “We’ve lived together for several years, John. You’ve seen me naked a multitude of times—”

“Helping you shower and go to the loo when you’re injured isn’t really the same as an intimate relationship,” John interrupted, amused.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “Semantics. Unimportant.” He sobered, his eyes darkening as his pupils widened again. “The facts are simple: I’ve wanted you for a very long time, John Watson. Now that you’ve realized it, I see no need to place restrictions on our feelings.” His eyes narrowed, eyebrows dropping into another frown. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

“Not what I said,” John said with an indulgent smile. Trust Sherlock to approach something like feelings with utter rationality, even as the apparent sign of his arousal pressed against the backs of John’s thighs. “I just never knew until now that you felt this way. It’s… well, it’s a bit of a surprise.”

Another scoff from Sherlock. “It’s not my fault that you’re a rather oblivious person, John. Now,” he said, voice clipped and to the point, “are you going to kiss me again? Or must we continue to talk all this out when I’d much rather show you how I feel?”

John stared at him, taken aback by the bluntness, before he tilted his head back and let out a loud, shocked laugh. “Oh, you’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

A gleam entered Sherlock’s pale eyes, lighting his face with mischievous promise. “I most certainly do plan for there to be handfuls of something, John. Rest assured.” He squeezed John’s backside with his un-splinted hand in a demonstration, prompting a startled but pleased wiggle from John.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” John said with a grin, then bent his head to meet Sherlock’s upturned mouth.

[thiswasinevitableid]

1. Siren Indruck NSFW, Duck is hauling supplies for the small town of Kepler on a tiny boat. Due to dangerous storms, Duck takes a longer but safer and less traversed route. He doesn’t know he’ll be passing through a Siren’s territory. A siren who is looking for a strong and sturdy mate

Here you go!

Duck never tells anyone what he finds on the beach that day. 

He’s fourteen, looking for useful flotsam and jetsam tossed onto the sand by an ongoing storm. What he finds is an empty boat and a merman, silvery tail impaled with a spear in a piece of driftwood. Each time he tries to free himself, he winces and is unable to pull the weapon from his body. When he sees Duck, his red eyes widen and he bares sharp teeth in a hiss. 

“It’s okay” the boy kneels in the bloody sand, “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Or, uh, this’ll hurt for a sec, but it’ll be better than tryin to ease it out bit by bit.” He grabs the end of the fishing spear and pulls. The merman shrieks, quickly clamping his hands across his mouth as Duck pulls his handkerchief from his pocket to bandage the wound. 

“There, you should be able to-”

The creature is gone with a whip of his tail, sliding down the sand and into the waves. As Duck stands, a strange song floats from the foam for the briefest instant. A seasoned sailor can tell a siren from a normal mer on sight; Duck has never been to sea. It’s weeks later that he wonders what events resulted in the wounded siren and an empty boat. 

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

Any other day, Duck would put off this run until the black clouds no longer hung over the horizon. But the supply run last week didn’t come, so the isolated, coastal town of Kepler is running low on, among other things, the medicine needed to treat an illness spreading from house to house. He could put this off until tomorrow, but he won’t sleep well tonight if he does.

The boat loaded, he starts out to sea under unfriendly skies. Today is a day to follow the coastline and then circle Greenbriar Island to reach Kepler, rather than trying for a straight shot.  It’ll double his travel time, but it’s far safer in a storm and no one but a few locals know how to navigate it. Duck takes this route once or twice most years. This summer alone he’s had to take it six times, with today making a seventh. The abnormal number of storms weighs on the minds of coastal residents. Duck tries not to obsess over it, given that it’s solidly out of his control and there’s no use fussing over wind and rain; there’s only getting through them. 

Halfway through his journey, a rogue swell catches the underside of the boat and drags it along a rock, springing a leak in the hull. He ties off on a thin spire of stone, clambering onto a rock to try and repair the damage. It’s not a big leak, but it’ll be trouble if he lets it go. 

As he’s laying awkwardly with water lapping up his legs, a human head rises from the water a few feet from him. Silver hair, red eyes and, when it smiles, very sharp teeth. Harmless mermaids have teeth much like his own, which means he’s alone in the ocean with a fucking siren.

Duck’s learned many things since that day on the beach; how a song can paralyze a man better than poison, how the bite marks on the skin of certain bodies that wash ashore are called siren kisses

The siren begins swimming closer. Duck sighs, “If you’re gonna drown and eat me, can you do it on the way back?”

Red eyes blink, confused, but the siren stays where he is. 

“If I don’t make it to Kepler, lotta folks’ll get sick, some will even die. And I don’t think you got much use for medicine and canned food.”

The siren shakes his head. 

“Glad you understand.” Duck finishes his repairs under watchful eyes. At one point, the siren swims all the way to the rock Duck is perched on, resting his chin on his hands, as if enjoying the view. 

Duck scrambles back into the boat the moment he’s done, but no cold fingers try for his ankles and no splash announces something lunging upwards after him. A cautious glance as he starts the engine finds the siren sitting on the rock, silver-blue tail still half in the water. When he notices Duck looking, he waves. 

The rest of the journey goes as planned, the relief on folks faces when Duck docks worth the peril. When he reaches the siren’s territory on his return, no song tempts him. A lithe shape keeps pace with the boat, fin breaking the surface now and then. When he hits open water, the siren turns back, disappearing from view. 

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

There are sex dreams, and then there’s whatever the fuck Duck is having right now. Fingers stroke his hair, cling to his shoulders. Kisses coat his face and a voice whispers his name as the speaker offers themself to him again and again. He sees himself tangled with a man, face always just out of focus, who spreads his legs and lips so Duck can sink himself into the heat of his body. The dream is endless and he doesn’t care, doesn’t ever want to wake up. 

Saltwater in his lungs renders that desire useless. He snaps back to consciousness as another wave hits him; he’s up to his neck  in the cove below his house. 

“The fuck?” It’s only his footprints visible in the moonlight in the sand, so no one dumped him here. 

“Oh dear.”

“Jesus!” Duck stumbles back as glowing eyes peer around a rock. It’s the siren from yesterday, swimming purposefully as Duck wades backwards. 

“Look, uh, when I said I wanted you to wait to eat me, I wasn’t bein serious. Or, uh, I was, but I meant I didn’t want to be eaten ever, not just then. It was a, uh, a joke.”

“I am aware.” The siren stops as Duck topples on his ass in the shallow water, “and I am sorry. I, ah, I did not mean to lure you from your bed. I was not aware my mindless singing was enough to wake you. In most futures, you slept until dawn.”

“Uh huh, sure, because sirens are known to just serenade folks without wanting to drown ‘em.” 

“We do it more often than you might think.” The siren sighs, “I came here to keep you safe, and succeeded only in making you afraid.”

Duck, having scooted inelegantly onto dry land, watches the tan upper body of the siren sag. It’s awkward, a word not associated with this kind of mer. That suggests he’s telling the truth. 

“You gonna tell me why you’re playin watchdog at my house?” 

The siren chirps, intrigued, “In all but one future you told me to go away.”

“That’d just leave me with more questions. And so far, you ain’t done anythin other’n watch me; if you say this was an accident, I’m willin to hear you out.”

“Wonderful!” The siren claps his hands together and the tip of his tail flips out of the water. Then he clears his throat and recites, “I am known as Indrid Cold. As you noticed, I am a siren. I am also a gifted seer, artist, and lifeguard when humans are unconscious and thus will not try to kill me for rescuing them. I am an excellent fisher, and well-liked and/or feared by the larger creatures of this coastline. This is why I think I would be an excellent mate.”

“O-kay. Did you call me out here to practice your personals ad?” Duck smirks, charmed by Indrids earnest tone.

“This is not practice. I did a great deal of that earlier today. This is my formal declaration that I would very much like you to be my mate.”

“Ma--hold on.” The images from his near-fatal dream return, “were you singin’ to hit on me?”

Indrid crosses his arms, “For the last time, that song was not for you. It was about you, because I was daydreaming and my formless melody unintentionally conveyed the contents of said daydream into your mind.”

“So everythin in it, all that wild fuckin stuff, that’s stuff you wanna do with me?”

A nod, accompanied by a flash of white light under the water. 

“Why?”

“Because you are strong, and handsome, and capable on the water. I watched your futures yesterday and today and saw you are kind as well, well-liked by other humans but a little lonely at night. You are very nice to that small land-otter that lives in your house.”

“You mean the cat?”

“That’s the word! Yes, you are nice to your cat. You are not brash or cruel, and you look so very nice without a shirt. I...I like you, Duck. You are everything I want in a mate.”

“Feel like I might be missin’ some gills and fins.” He jokes to cover the fact he’s scanning his mind and body for the same dreamy lull he felt during the song. What he finds in it’s place is his ego purring from praise and wondering exactly what a siren would do for his mate.

“There is no rule that says I must choose only my own kind for such activities. I, ah, I know it is strange, given how little we know of each other, but I thought that, ah, since humans will have casual sex with each other maybe we could, or, ah, that is…” He’s watching Duck with such unconcealed hope that the human almost joins him in the water.

“Indrid, I’m real flattered. But I’d be a damn fool if I didn’t point out this feels like a fuckin trap. Pretty easy for you to drag me to my death once we’re, uh, in the middle of things. Not that I’m sayin you would.” He adds when the sirens smile dims. 

“A sensible concern. May I join you on land for a moment? There is something I want to show you.”

Duck pats the sand beside him, eyes following the ripples of Indrid’s tail as he swims, slithers, and slides onto the beach. It reminds Duck of an oarfish, though when Indrid spies him looking the scales flash deep purple. 

“Look there” Indrid points toward the end of the silver ribbon of scales; a round, white scar stares up at Duck. The details of a day over two decades in the past return to him.

“You’re the siren I found when I was a kid.”

“Indeed. I remember you by your eyes, though your face has some echoes of that day in it’s curves. You saved my life, showed me mercy when I expected none. Sirens do not forget a favor, and we do not kill those who once spared us. I will never harm you, even if you turn me away tonight. You will be safe, whether that is in my arms or merely in my territory.”

Duck avoids the stranger sides of life by the sea, citing a lifelong incompatibility with the weird. Turns out all he needed to find his exception to that rule is a handsome siren looking at him like he set the tides in motion. 

The human runs a finger up the sirens tail, sparks of purple and pale blue light igniting in it’s wake. 

“Didn’t know y’all changed colors.” He pets Indrid’s hip and the whole tail lights up this time. 

“I am a deep-sea siren by birth, we use light to communicate emotions.”

“Mind, uh, loopin me in on the conversation?”

“Purple means desire. It’s a common color in mating displays.” Indrid watches Duck’s hand  glide along his scales, and a burst of pale blue reflects across their faces. 

“And that one?”

“Submission.” Indrid murmurs, “it is, ah, not the most desirable color to show. My kind value strength and power; enjoying the opposite is an invitation to mockery.” The siren’s eyes stay downcast, even when Duck smooths silver hair from his face.

“Now, I like to joke as much as the next fella, but that don’t seem like somethin to tease about.”

“No?” Indrid’s gaze flicks onto Duck the instant before the man straddles him. Duck doesn’t even have to push him onto his back; he goes instantly, hands flat on the sand and tail twitching excitedly in the shallows. 

“No. Seems to me a sweet thing like you oughta be takin care of.” 

Indrid snickers, “That is not usually an adjective one uses for meAHahnn” he arches as Duck tugs his hair.

“Let’s get one thing straight, sugar; I decide what you get called. I wanna call you the most perfect creature in the sea, I will. And if I wanna call you a needy little mer who’s good for nothin but gettin fucked into the sand, you’re gonna nod and say ‘yes.’ Understood?”

The blue light flashing up his tail brightens, “Y-yes but, but why do you call me sugar? That is a food.”

Duck giggles, leans down to brush their noses together, “It’s a nickname, call you it because you’re sweet and I can’t wait to get my fill of you.”

“Ohhhh, I see.” 

“You wanna see somethin else?”

“Very much soOH, oh goodness.” Indrid gasps as Duck forces his gaze towards his cock attempting to free itself from his boxers. He grinds on the supple muscle of his tail to take the pressure off, chuckles when the siren whines and tries to kiss his chest. 

“Since you’re the only siren I’d ever even consider fuckin-” Duck pauses as Indrid moans loudly, digging his fingers into the sand, “you gotta show me how to go about it.”

“If, if you just continue as you are a little higher upyes, yes right there” He rolls his hips, purrs with such a blissful expression that Duck is powerless to do anything but kiss him. His affection grows when he notices Indrid clearly restraining his kisses so as not to catch Duck’s mouth or tongue with his sharp teeth. The last guy he fucked shoved his tongue down his throat without any build-up or finesse, and now all he can think is if only Indrid had made his feelings know sooner, Duck could have done away with shitty human dates and had an obedient, eager mer instead. 

“Mmmmm” Indrid licks his lips, runs his fingers up Duck’s sides, “kissing is nice. It is not something sirens often indulge in, so my chances to do it are few and far between.”

“Ain’t that a shame” Duck kisses the corners of his mouth, “lips like these were made to be kissed sore.”

Indrid purrs, wiggling his tail, and Duck looks down to see a slit opening where his clothed cock has been rubbing. 

“Huh. Kinda figured you had-”

“-I have both this and an appendage below it much like your own.”

“Handy.” Duck, in no mood to climb off the purring, otherworldly man, eases the waistband of his damp boxers just under his balls. 

“This, uh, this ain’t gonna actually create a, I mean, I don’t wanna accidentally-”

“Nono, there is no chance of procreation”

“And you’ll be okay with so little of you in the water?”

“Yesyes I will be fine.” Indrid tugs at his hips, bucks his own into the air in frustration. 

“Just checkin’ oh, oh fuck” Indrid is tight and ridged around his dick as it slides in, “fuckin christ, no wonder sailors’ll crash into rocks at the offerin of fuckin a siren, wait, fuck, that was probably rude.”

“I will let it slide” Indrid teases, the end of his tail curling around Duck’s left ankle, “on account of your body is so lovely I would beach myself and die gasping on your doorstep for a chance to touch it.”

“No need for that. All you gotta do is wait here like a good little mer and I’ll fuck you as much as you want.” The slit pulses as Duck slowly fucks in and out, and he knows he’ll have to throw out all his fleshlights after this because nothing will ever compare to the deliciously alien feeling of Indrid around his dick. 

“Do, do not joke about such things.” Indrid whimpers, clinging to his shoulders.

“I ain’t. You wanted a mate, right?”

“Yes, you, so very badly.”

“Well, you got one, and you feel so goddamn good on my cock I ain’t inclined to let you swim off and be someone else’s.”

“I do not want to, I only want you, please, please let me stay.”

Duck stills his hims and the siren writhes as he leans down. The human cups his cheek, “I want you to stay, ‘Drid. I wanna get to know you. Long as you promise you ain’t gonna fuck me unless you want to, and not because you’re scared I’ll turn you loose.”

“I promise.” Indrid initiates the kiss this time, purring when Duck takes his time kissing back. 

“Good. Now that we got that cleared up” Duck sits up, “be a good mate and take what I give you.” He fucks in as hard as he dares, dives back down to kiss Indrid’s lips and throat as the mer’s cock emerges. Duck finds he can grind his ass along the twisting shaft at the same time he drives his own into Indrid’s body, resulting in a wail of pleasure and teeth sinking into his shoulder. 

“Fuck!”

“Sorry!” Indrid squeaks, hiding his face in Duck’s neck, “it, it is a reflex-”

Duck yanks his head back to his shoulder, near the first mark, and holds it down, “Do it again.”

Indrid trills and pain lights up Duck’s body, the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure coursing through him with each roll of their bodies. The siren chirps and moans, nips his arms and ears, slides his tail along his legs as his cock pumps frantically against his ass.

“That’s it sweet thing, cum for me while I fuck you. Show me just what my mate is for.” Duck bites Indrid’s neck and cum splatters the backs of his thighs as Indrid’s repetitions of his name drown out the noise of the waves.  Duck’s orgasm follows fast, sweeps through him like the crescendo of a song carried on the night air. 

Duck stays buried in him well after he’s finished, mind already conjuring images of tying Indrid down in shallow water and keeping his cock warm all day.

“Duck?”

“Yeah, sugar?” 

“I, ah, I need to get back in the water.”

“Oh shit, yeah, sure.” He pulls out, tosses his sea-soaked boxers up the beach as Indrid slides into the sea. Duck wades in, stopping where it’s waist deep as the siren swims lazily circles around him. 

“Such a perfect mate.”

“Glad you still think so.”

Indrid curls up to him, rubbing their cheeks together, “Thank you for indulging me. Do...do you wish me to come back tomorrow? Or to stay tonight? There are no other mers between here and my territory, so there is no reason I cannot count this stretch as mine.”

Duck kisses one of the hickeys blooming on tan skin, “How’s about you stay the night. We got some things to talk about. And, if you’re real good, I might let you fuck me when we’re done.”

Indrid grins, “My dearest one, I believe we have a deal.”

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

Nowadays, if you ever go near Kepler and the surrounding islands, you may hear people talk about Duck Newton, beloved native son, skilled park ranger, and the only man receive siren kisses and live to tell the tale. 

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon XVI

Jason is a CEO: Part XVI

okay wow it has been a hooottt minute since i’ve updated a multi-chap fic and an even hotter minute since i’ve updated this one. so here’s a recap:

jase and zoe broke up, because she is being forced by her father to marry someone else (who that may be is yet to be revealed). jason has finally had enough and at the insistence of his friends he packs up on a holiday to Panarea (in italy) where he is delightedly shocked to discover Percy Jackson is currently working, and oh no.....would you look at that......the hotel messed up their reservations and now they have to share the same room, and the same bed. lmao they’re dorks.

here’s how the last chapter ended:

“Let’s just stay together? We’re friends. We know each other, we trust each other, and it’ll be less hassle than trying to find a room for either of us.”

“But there’s only one bed?” His brain was short-circuiting.

It shut down altogether when the man before him smirked. “Well i can keep my hands to myself, if you promise to.”

“I-” What is stopping him from saying yes? Why should he say no?

“It’s totally okay if you don’t want to.” Percy’s expression was so gentle, and it turned every weathered rock in Jason to gemstone.

“Yes.” He said firmly. “Let’s share the room.”

It was only when they got back to the hotel did Jason realise they were still holding hands. He wondered if they’d find each other like that in their dreams too. They did.

masterlist; my links

Jason awoke to an arm slung over his waist and soft breaths fanning the bare skin of his back. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, bringing with it the heat that was sure to get unbearable. He thought he’d feel uncomfortable with someone touching him in weather like this but Percy seemed to be cool, and gods did he look cute with his messy black curls, and brown skin that absorbed rays of light and turned it into magic.

They had promised each other that they’d keep to their sides of the bed and refrain from mauling one another in the night, but it seemed like they had gravitated together anyhow. And Percy was certainly a cuddler. 

A knock sounded and with groaning realisation he saw the clock on the wall read ten am. They were out later than either of them had realised. 

“Jackson,” He nudged the man gently, “I think you need to get up.”

A mumbled response sunk into his skin as soft lips brush against his back. Jason went completely still, the sensation running along his nerves like hot wires. 

“You okay?” Another mumble filtered through his delirium. 

“I’m fine,” He managed to choke out, “I think we need to get up though. Room service is already here.”

That sparked movement. Suddenly green eyes were wide open, and cheeks, streaked with the creases of the pillow, were red with panic. “What is the time?” 

“It’s ten am,” He pointed to the clock. 

“Fuck!” Percy practically leaped out of bed and slammed his shoulder into the door frame as he skidded into the bathroom.

Jason heard the shower go on, and an electric toothbrush whirr to life, and then he heard a multitude of curse words, a loud bang and some groans of pain.

“Er,” He should go in there and make sure his friend was still alive. “Jackson?” He stepped into the bathroom and was not at all prepared for the sight that greeted him.

There, tangled in his pants, toothpaste stains on his face, and the shower soaking the bathroom floor was Dr. Percy Jackson.

“Do you need help?”

“This is not how this morning was supposed to go,” The dark-haired man garbled, looking hopelessly at the mess he had created.

Jason hid a smile as he bent down to help tug Percy’s pants off him, “And how was the morning supposed to go.”

Green eyes clashed with his, the toothbrush still whirring in his mouth. “I was supposed to wake up early and order a buffet for breakfast and then as we stuffed ourselves-” he cut off, choking on the toothpaste. 

Jason couldn’t hide his amusement, and burst out laughing at Percy’s subsequent glare. Standing up and tossing the pants in the wash basket, he offered his hand to his friend, who took it gratefully before heading to the sink to finish brushing his teeth.

“What were we going to do while we ate?” He asked, leaning against the basin, one leg crossed over the other.

“I was going to feed you maple-covered waffles and answer some emails, and you were going to read that book I know you brought.”

“Are we an old married couple in this scenario?” He quirked a brow, lips twitching.

Percy frowned, stripping off his underwear and stepping into the heat of the shower. “I’m just trying to start our future early.” 

Jason watched those glorious back muscles ripple, as water streaked down, but he refused to follow its path, not daring to go lower than the small dip of that spine. He didn’t even know why he was still in the bathroom, why he was being such a creeper, but his feet were superglued to the floor. He couldn’t move even if a crowbar tried to pry him away.

“Are you not agreeing with my vision?” A muffled voice drifted around him.

He attempted to come back to reality but it was proving near impossible. “Uh no-” He stuttered, “I think it’s a solid plan.” His eyes traced the sharp angles of that jaw, and the strong-bridged nose, and black hair matted to beautiful brown skin. He was sure he was dreaming. There could be no other explanation for the surrealness of the moment.

“Jase?” Percy touched his arm gently, skin hot from the shower. “You okay?”

He startled into the world so fast he felt dizzy. Where on earth had he gone? To another dimension it seemed. “Oh gods i’m so sorry,” He groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I just watched you shower like a complete pervert.”

His friend smirked, and then he was laughing. “Who says i didn’t enjoy it?”

The blush that raced across his skin was enough to dull rubies. He didn’t know where to look, or how to breathe, or what he was made of. He was simply an untied balloon barreling towards the nearest thorn bush. “You,” He managed to choke, “Are going to be the death of me doctor.”

“Good,” He heard the smirk like violins, “Maybe then I won't feel like I'm falling straight to the bottom of the ocean all by myself.”

Jason peeked through his fingers, watching as Percy finished up and flitted around the room, trying to still the heart that threatened to beat out his rib cage and into a drum set. It was an ache in his chest, how much he felt for this man. How much he wanted him.

“So i’m going to be in and out for the next few days but i’m going to work my butt off so i can have Thursday and Friday off. I’m sorry for being a terrible roommate but i don’t think i’ll make meals until then.” He could see the regret in the doctor’s eyes, turning that vibrant green a shade like dying leaves.

“No,” He shook his head, “Seriously it’s not a problem. You do what you have to.” He couldn’t believe his friend felt bad for leaving him, when they hadn’t even known they’d be here together. It said enough about Percy's character that Jason was trying very hard not to bundle the man up in blankets and kiss his cheeks until the guilt of the past stopped carving valleys between his brows. Instead he hugged him, accidentally letting his lips brush against Percy's neck, just above his collar as he pulled away. Accidentally. The squeeze at his waist let him know his accident was well received.

“Goodbye Jackson.” He smiled as he watched the doctor race down the hall. A ringed wave was the response before he disappeared around the corner.

Jason closed the door, leaning against it with an expression made from coffee foam and whipped cream. He couldn't imagine a morning as peaceful as that one, not in days, months, years? With a satisfied sigh he flopped back into bed, inhaling the ocean scent of Percy that lingered across the sheets like cool waters on a summer evening. The plan for the day was that there was no plan. Thalia had chosen well by booking this little place. He wouldn’t be distracted by touristy things ergo he couldn’t possibly do anything else but relax. So he snuggled into the pillows and stared at the ceiling and fell half asleep and listened to the wind and felt the heat creep across his skin and he just let himself be.

His thoughts were as wild as the tides and sometimes they spilled like ocean water across his cheeks. But then he’d drift off to a dream and wake up to the sound of people laughing and cars sputtering and footsteps stomping past his door and all of a sudden nothing felt too far away.

He was sad. He was sad enough to wonder if sadness was all he knew. His ex boyfriend, who he had loved like stars loved darkness, had broken down his dream and rebuilt it as a nightmare. He managed to wake up. His girlfriend, who he could have loved given time, had tied all the fraying parts of his heart to the wheel of a car and pressed accelerate. He managed to cut himself free. His girlfriend, who he had loved outright and bold, had danced him to the edge of a cliff and left him with one foot already going over. Had he managed to catch himself before reaching the bottom?

It was a question that kept him occupied through the day. Through the breakfast he ate slowly. Through the sleep he found restlessly when his mind wouldn’t focus on the book he’d brought. Through the very late lunch he gobbled down like his stomach would start a rebellion if it didn’t get it’s due. Through the golden sunset he sat at the window and watched.

But it was finally when he sunk to the floor of the shower, letting the water hit his back like welcome rain, that he had an answer; and with it the question of “What came next?” That answer, he knew, would come later. Clear and bright and ready to be grabbed with teeth and hands and love.

So he finished his shower, and changed into loose cotton pants and a shirt that he didn’t bother to button. A walk on the beach didn’t require formality.

The sand was soft on his feet, different to the way New York beaches felt. And the ocean was a richer blue, as if he were being introduced to colour for the first time and this was how water was supposed to look. He supposed places like this weren’t called paradise on earth for nothing. The last dregs of sunlight skittered across the water, as if playing with it. His fingers itched to paint the scene but with nothing but the sand at his fingertips he simply took in the view, and let his mind form the painting he couldn’t.

The air was cooler here, not as sticky, but that didn’t mean the heat wasn’t ever present, scorching the sand like coal hearths. His feet would be blistered if it weren’t so late into the evening. Any earlier and he may have been hopping around like a scared crab. The image was enough to make him giggle to himself. It’s a sound he misses, and one he loved enough to leave him smiling.

“Care to share, comedian?” A smooth voice called from behind him. 

He turned around, whipped faster than the wind, to see Percy walking towards him, a grin on his handsome face.

“I was picturing myself as a scared crab.”

Dark eyebrows raised in confusion, before rich laughter burst into the air. Jason swore it turned the night into magic. “Maybe I should have left you in peace.” The doctor shook his head. 

“Who says you’re disrupting it?” He tilted his head, before starting on his walk once more.

He didn’t see the look that crossed his friend’s face, like comfort turned to being.

“What did you do today?”

“Self reflection,” He said into the air, into the world, into himself. “How about you?”

“Oh you know, a little lab work here, a little analysis there.” Percy shrugged.

“Tell me more,” He prompted.

The look of surprise on his friend’s face made him want to throttle anyone who’s ever stopped this man from talking.

“You sure?” It was hesitant, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t promise to understand everything so I may have questions but if you’re willing to indulge me I want to hear all about it.”

With a look that spoke of worlds beyond their comprehension Percy launched into a detailed play-by-play of his day. He answered every question with patience and sparkling eyes, and there were many questions. By the time they got back to their hotel the crescent moon was their only source of light in the inky blackness of the sky and his stomach was growling enough that he knew he couldn’t afford to snack for supper.

“Want to go to the restaurant for dinner?” He tilted his head to the opposite side of the lobby where grand doors opened and closed periodically. 

“I uh,” His friend winced, “I have some work today so i’m going to head to the room.”

“Okay,” He shrugged smiling, “I’ll meet you up there later.”

“Uh yea,” Percy’s face held an expression he didn’t quite know how to interpret. “See you then.”

“Want me to bring something up for you?”

“No, no, don’t worry about me.” Black curls bounced as he shook his head. 

They parted ways, Jason only slightly confused by the weird turn his friend’s mood took, and decided he’d bring back a chocolate brownie if nothing else.

As he sat down at a table, observing the grand balustrades and curtained windows he felt suddenly alone. It wasn’t a feeling he let himself be consumed by but just the fact that it was there had him reaching for his phone. With a few taps he was calling Leo, knowing it’d be early morning for them.

“Hello,” A cheery voice crackled through his earphone. It was enough to settle all the worried nerves hidden between his ribcage.

Their conversation was bright and energetic, Leo being a morning person; he even got a few grunts out of Annabeth, who was decidedly not. Everything was okay with his company and more importantly his friends were fine.

“I found a person we know here,” He mumbled, trying to keep his voice and excitement quiet.

“Who?” Leo was practically vibrating. Even Annabeth looked at the camera with blurry eyed curiosity.

“Uh Percy.” He scratched the back of his neck, shyness crawling across his skin.

“Oh,” His friend’s eyes widened. “What is he doing there?”

“Work,” This was fine. This was safe. Nobody was jumping to any conclusions.

“Are you sure you didn’t run away to get married?”

And there went all his hope of having reasonable friends. “No!” He hissed. “And besides I didn't run away, you guys forced me to go.”

“Well it’s done you good. I can finally see some colour in those pasty cheeks.” Brown eyes sparkled with mischief. 

Before Jason could respond another call was interrupting. “Zoe Nightshade” flashed across the screen.

“Uh Leo,” He frowned at his phone. “I’ll call you back.”

“Everything okay?” He heard the worry like tv static.

“I hope so.” The furrow between his brows didn’t disappear. 

And then he hung up on his best friend and answered the other call.

“Oh Jason,” Relief flooded in his ear like water in a drought. “Thank you for answering.” The smooth voice of his ex-girlfriend reached him.

“Zoe,” His nerves were bow-string taught. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling me?”

“I need your help.” She answered. She sounded desperate. “I can’t marry Octavian.”

Jason Grace nearly falls off the cliff.

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

Tags (if you want to be added/taken off the tag list just let me know. All my channels of communication are open):

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@leyontheway​

@queen-of-demons-and-hell​

@msdrpreist​​

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@nishlicious-01​

@lucyisblue​

@legendary-cupcake​

@larrikin-is-a-himbo​

[candychronicles]

trust // s. todoroki

A/N: this is like almost two months late because i truly suck but this is my piece of the trade fic for @burnedbyshoto​ !!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Todoroki Shouto x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,711

WARNINGS: angst, shower sex, overwhelming emotions, mention of blood

SYNOPSIS: one simple sentence can change everything in the relationship. after days of not talking, can you two reconcile?

“i don’t know what you expect me to do. quit my job, my life as a pro-hero? nothing is more important than that, not even you.”

you didn’t know why those few words hit you so hard, but they did. you knew Shouto was dedicated to his work, dedicated to saving people, to being everything his father wasn’t and more, but it still stung, dug a hole deep into your chest and squeezed your heart until there was only pulp and mush left. 

the conversation started out as something simple. you two worked well together, like an oiled machine. this meant any issue, big or small, was usually resolved with a conversation. things got messy sometimes, like it did in any relationship, as Shouto was sometimes quick to judge and you often were clingy, but it was never enough to cause a real problem. today, however, turned into an absolute nightmare.

you had casually brought up date night, something which hadn’t been done in awhile due to busy and conflicting schedules, when things got heated. he didn’t understand why you were so concerned about going to see a movie, going to get dinner, to an amusement park, for a walk in the woods, or whatever other ridiculous idea that was thrown out of your mouth. tensions were high at work, villains were getting cocky and people’s lives were at risk. taking time off was something that just couldn’t be done at the moment.

you tried to be understanding, you really did. he was someone who was working his ass off to make the world a better place. his mental state and overall being from childhood to now was a tremendous improvement. overall, Shouto was working hard to make himself into someone he wanted to be. you also understood how important his work was to him, how hard he worked to get to where he was today and how everything from his past, such as his home life and every bad thing that happened at UA high, was a constant reminder for him to keep fighting.

sometimes, though, you can’t help feeling the way you’re feeling, and things come out of your mouth that should never be said.

“sometimes i wish you weren’t a pro hero.”

that one simple comment was meant to only convey a sense of frustration at the lack of personal time you two had together, but instead, it spiraled out of control into an issue of him acting as if you were accusing him of not caring about you and you getting increasingly frustrated over the fact that you did not want this to escalate anymore than it already had.

finally, those words were spoken, and you were left, sitting on your once shared bed as he slept on the couch, staring blankly into the darkness as you tried to wrap your head around what was going on. you wanted to speak to him, apologize for the way things had gone down and clarify your frustrations, but at the same time, you knew his mental state wouldn’t allow him to listen to you or your feelings rationally. so you sat, mulling over your words and feeling your heart continue to disintegrate.

for days, Shouto used the couch for sleep, showering and getting ready at work, eating out and coming home late. you knew he was frustrated as well over the situation, but after days of not talking, you were getting worried that there was nothing that could be said or done to fix the hole that was slowly tearing the fabric of your love apart.

it was only while you were in the middle of a shower, late at night, that things were finally resolved. you had heard the door slam and knew he was home, but didn’t think anything of it at the time. only when your bathroom door was whipped open did you get concerned, jumping at the sudden intrusion of your thoughts.

words were not spoken between the two of you, but you could feel something had shifted in him, and he was finally ready to work things out. clothes were stripped and haphazardly thrown on the floor, door gently slid open and a warm body slid behind yours. you could feel the tension and anxiety radiating off of him in waves and you continued to wait for his response, washing your hair in the process.

finally, he let out a sigh and began helping you, using his hands to lather the suds into your hair.

“i’m sorry. it took me a bit of time to understand what you were trying to say. you just want to spend time with me, and you do not actually wish that i was not a pro-hero, but rather that my job did not take up so much of my time,” he started, “i do want to spend more time with you too, so i have been working late. i was able to score the next three days off, no questions asked. we can do whatever you want.”

you opened and closed your mouth but no words were able to be formed. you instead turned around, letting the water cascade over your head and quickly scrubbed the foam out of your hair, reaching up to plant a searing kiss to your lovers lips, tasting the water mixed with the delicious flavor of him.

he responded without hesitation, understanding this strange love language more than he did words. he trusted you, trusted that when you kissed him it meant you loved him, trusted that when you showed yourself bare that you wanted him to make you feel good and wanted to make him feel good. he trusted you with every fiber in his being, and he was going to show you how much he really loved you.

there was no time to take you to the bedroom. there was no time to kiss you on every inch of your body and murmur whispers of praise in your ear. there would be time for proper worship over the next couple of days but today, right now, he needed you. he needed to feel you, needed to fill you, needed to make sure that you were here and real and still his, that nothing bad had happened while you two were avoiding each other and that he could feel a little more normal again.

he murmured a quiet command to jump against your lips, and you did, bracing yourself on his broad shoulders, his hands firmly under your ass. the coolness of the tile against your back as he pushed you against it elicited a hiss but was quickly replaced with a moan when his lips attached themselves to your neck, nipping and sucking in all the right places.

he pulled away, a look of pure desperation and need in his eyes which surely mirrored your own. you didn’t need to talk, not yet. he had already apologized, and you could spend the rest of the night showing and telling your own regrets of the situation, but in the moment, you were feeling as if your whole body was on fire despite the tile and cooling water. you had spent long enough without him, long enough thinking of what you had said and done, and none of it mattered now that you were back in his arms.

Shouto repositioned himself, bracing you in one arm as he slowly used his other hand to guide himself into your waiting hole, thoroughly wet from both the water and your own juices. he entered with little resistance, arms flexing out of sheer instinct, the feeling of your warm cavern overwhelming to his sense. a steady pace was set, his cock thrusting inside of you with need and longing.

his eyes met yours once more, foreheads leaning forward and pressing together, breathes mingling as you both lost yourselves in the feelings of one another. wet squelching sounds echoed throughout the bathroom, soft pants and moans brushing past your ears.

he continued to pound in and out of you mercilessly, and you clenched around him, fitting so nice and snug around his cock. his deft fingers brushed over your clit and then began rubbing precise yet harsh circles into it, signaling that he was close himself. you felt your own high building, a heavy burning sensation deep inside of you, and you dug your nails into his shoulders, pressing your lips to his intensely, too overwhelmed and just wanting to feel more of him.

you came with a sob, squeezing, yourself tightly around his whole body, biting down on his lip, drawing the tangy metallic liquid out and into your mouth. you felt his hips stutter and he came with his own grunt, pulling your body even more tightly to his own, feeling his dick twitch and the sticky liquid filling you up.

you both sat there, not wanting to do anything except bask in the sensation of each other. carefully, he pulled out and set you back on your feet, continuing to hold you close to his body. you placed your head directly onto his chest, hearing his heartbeat loud and strong. you were slowly returning to your senses, feeling the warm liquid flow out of your cunt and down your legs, the warmth of Shouto’s body and the now freezing water. you blindly reached out and slammed your palm against the handle, effectively shutting it off, shivering.

“let’s get you into bed, you’re freezing,” he chided, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, opening the door and stepping out, throwing a fluffy towel your way.

you stepped out after him, wrapping the fabric around your body, smiling softly.

“tomorrow, let me show you how sorry i am but tonight, lets go to sleep yeah?” you asked, opening the door and not waiting for an answer, moving towards the bed and throwing yourself on top of the sheets, utterly exhausted by the sex, not only physically, but emotionally as well.

you were sure there would be a conversation and much making up to do but you knew you two would be okay and right now, you were in love, surrounded by downy blankets and the warm body of your boyfriend pulling you tightly against him.

TAGS: @redbeanteax​ @softforshigi

[blazingemstone]

Let’s Talk Over Coffee

SO! I decided to try my hand at writing more stories and decided I wanted to try my hand at this. I wrote this story about Jolligig and Fawful for @darkfawful 

Now, this story is not canon. I don’t own these characters, so take what happens in this story like you would any fanfiction. It is just my interpretation as to how the two of them met based on the comics that they have drawn about Jolligig and Fawful.

I decided to call the story “Let’s Talk Over Coffee,” because that was how they described Fawful and Jolligig meeting, through Jolligig’s barista job. It is posted on my archive which is here and will be posted under the cut. I hope you guys like it!

...

“Jolli! We need three Woohoo Blends, one cappuccino and two espresso mochas!” 

“Coming up!” The Beanish picked up the half full coffee pot and poured out three coffees, before sliding them over to their coworker. They went over to the coffee machine and poured in a few woohoo beans, before turning it on. They filled up three cups full of the Woohoo Blend and popped the lids on the cups. “Three Woohoo Blends!” Three girls came up to the counter and picked up the coffees, thanking them with a smile. 

Jolligig sighed and pressed their back up against the counter, letting the counter hold his weight. It had proved to be busy for a Tuesday, as they had customers coming in constantly to pick up coffee. Since they had walked in for their shift today, they hadn’t had a chance to stop and catch a breath. Now that they were thinning, did they even have a chance to eat lunch today? Maybe they should take their lunch break now…

“Hey, Jolli.” The Beanish turned to look at their co-worker, who had just taken off his apron. “I’m taking my lunch break. You’ll be okay for the half hour that I’m gone, right?” 

Jolligig opened their mouth to protest. They had come in first to open that morning and had been working WAY longer than he had that day. However, they just closed their mouth and nodded, a little bitter. 

“Thanks, Jolli. I’ll make it quick.” With that, he was out the door. Jolligig sighed and pushed themselves back up to their feet. They may as well look as perky as they could. Though luckily for them, the coffee shop was empty besides for two customers who were sitting by the door.

They picked up one of the coffee mugs and a rag, beginning to wipe them down. They might as well get some of the menial chores out of the way while everything was calm for the moment. They had just started this however, when the door swung open, the little bell by the door ringing to signal someone had walked in.

“Welcome to Starbeans!” Jolligig called, not looking up from their cleaning. “Just one moment and I’ll be with you!”

“Coffee!” A shrill, high pitched voice called out. Jolligig looked up, a little confused at this. A small figure, dressed in a tattered grey cloak was standing at the counter. Underneath the hood, he could just barely make out the wide grin on the figure’s face and the light reflecting off their glasses.

“Fawf- err… this mysterious stranger demands only the strongest brew!” The figure shuffled up to the counter and laid out a few coins on the counter. Jolligig looked down at the figure for a brief moment, the gears turning in their head.

“Of course! A black slow roast would be our strongest. Anything with it? Whipped cream, foam or a peppermint stick?” They took the coins and began to prepare the coffee, their eyes still focused on the figure. There was a long silence and for a moment, Jolligig thought that the stranger was ignoring them.

“...the mysterious stranger requests the peppermint stick of mintiness.”

Jolligig just smiled and nodded, snatching a stick from the jar behind the counter and dropping it into the mug. “Here you are!” They watched as the stranger drew their hands from their cloak, seeming to be trying their hardest to not let Jolligig see anything underneath it. They took the mug and took a small sip of the coffee.

The stranger was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “You had the promising that this would be the strongest brew of the coffee. The slow roast is being as weak as the coffee of the weed flowers.” 

Jolligig was taken back at this statement and blinked a bit in confusion. At first from the way the stranger was speaking. They had never heard anyone speak like this before. Though the realization of what he was talking about sunk in not too long after and Jolligig felt a wave of disappointment wash over them. “But… That is our strongest brew.” They said quietly, feeling a little flustered. 

The stranger huffed a little and picked the peppermint stick out of the drink. “The peppermint of mintiness has tastiness. I will keep this.” He stuck the peppermint in his mouth.

They seemed to recover from the slight bit of shock and confusion. “Wait, um… I can offer you one of the desserts we have here. And… tomorrow I can try to make you a stronger coffee?”

The stranger was quiet for a moment, seeming to think on this. “This is doable.” He responded with a nod. “What pastries of sweetness do you have?”

The barista felt their tense shoulders relax a little. “Alright, well… We have scones, croissants, brownies, cookies, cake slices-”

“The mysterious stranger will take the slice of cake. The one of the berries of sweetness.” 

“Strawberry cake. Got it.” They opened the dessert display up and took out one of the slices of cake and put it on a small plate. They slid the plate over to the stranger and smiled a bit at them. “Do you still want your drink, or should I go ahead and dump it out?”

“I will keep the drink of weakness. Wasting coffee gives me fury.” Jolligig just nodded with a bit of a confused smile on his face. The stranger went over to the corner of the building and sat down at the table. As soon as he left, Jolligig began to start cleaning the glasses and plates that were still dirty, as well as doing a once over of the cafe by sweeping and taking the trash out.

By the time he had finished, it had been close to an hour since his coworker had gone to lunch. At this point, Jolligig was starving. They had put the broom in the back, only to hear their stomach growling loudly. With a sigh, they figured that they might as well take their own lunch break. 

Quickly scribbling a sign, they taped it on the door of the shop that read “On lunch break. Back in 30 minutes.” Once they had done so, they went to the back to grab their lunch bag and came out to the dining hall. As they had sat down to eat their sandwich, they overheard the familiar high pitched voice of the stranger.

“Are you on the break of lunch?” Jolligig looked up to see the stranger was actually standing next to their table. “Where is the partner of working?”

“Um…” They glanced behind the stranger to see if their co-worker had come back yet. No dice. “Chaz went out for lunch an hour ago. He hasn’t come back yet, so I just decided I should try to eat now.”

The stranger sniffed a little. “He does not seem to be a worker of greatness.” He sat down in the chair across from Jolligig, his coffee cup still in his hands.

They nervously laughed a little and shook their head. “No, no… Chaz is alright. He’s just… a bit forgetful, that’s all. He’ll be back soon.” Jolligig’s eyes glanced down at the coffee cup in the stranger’s hands. The coffee was almost completely gone at this point. “How was the coffee?”

“Like I had the saying: weak as coffee of the yellow weed flowers. But…” He sighed and let go of the mug, putting his hands underneath his cloak again. “It was of much tastiness. You have much skill.”

Jolligig blinked a little in surprise. “You still liked it? Even though it was too weak for you?”

“It was still of much tastiness.” He said with a nod. 

“Well.. Uh… Thank you.” They said with a smile. “I’m still willing to make you another one tomorrow in hopes it can be stronger.”

“That would be having of the much enjoyment.” The stranger said with a nod. 

“Cool! I’ll be here tomorrow after noon if you want to come and get the coffee then.”

“Jolli! What are you doing?” Jolligig looked over at the counter, where he finally saw his coworker again, putting his apron on. “Weren’t you supposed to be covering for me while I was gone?”

“Sorry, Chaz.” They said with a sigh. “You were taking too long and I got hungry. You’ll be okay with me for a bit, right? I’ll hop back when I’m done.”

The man sighed a bit and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Just don’t take too long.”

“You might want to take the sign off the door though.” Jolligig mentioned, pointing to the door. Their coworker sighed a little and just nodded. Jolligig turned back to their sandwich, trying to ignore the gaze of the stranger on him. “Oh, um if you’re going to be coming back tomorrow, can I ask for your name? In case we’re busy.”

The stranger was quiet for a moment. Jolligig immediately felt self conscious for asking. That may have been a little too personal for someone that he had just met. “I have the naming of Gerakobitz. But I am preferring the naming of Gera.” 

Jolligig relaxed a bit and smiled at him. “I’m Jolligig.” 

“It is nice of the meeting you.” Gera responded with a nod. “Gera must be having the leaving. Gera will come by tomorrow.”

“Alright, bye Gera.” They smiled and waved at the Beanish as he walked out the door, leaving his coffee mug on the table next to Jolligig. He was certainly an odd Beanish, but quite friendly. It was odd, but Jolligig was excited to see Gera again tomorrow.

[98prilla]

To Catch a Selkie

What a fool, he was.

 He liked to think himself smart, he liked to think himself clever, but he was anything but, currently.

 Curiosity had always been his downfall, his failing, his one deadly fault. He would pursue answers to the ends of the earth, fascinated by a world that wasn’t his, that he had been warned time and time again was dangerous, but he hadn’t listened, had he?

 And now, well, now his life may as well be over.

 It was already fading, the memories of the sea, of ocean water, of slipping between the waves smoothly and sleekly, his pod around him. The pups playing, splashing, sidling up to the dolphins, the braver ones to the whales.

 He had thought himself brave, once. But now he knew better. Reckless, that’s what he was, stupidly reckless.

 He was cold. Cold was an unusual feeling for him. He’d never known real cold before. His coat always kept him warm.

 But his coat was gone, now. Stolen. Just like every story he’d ever been told by his kin, every folktale warning of humans and their greed, he had succumbed to his own hubris.  

 He wouldn’t leave this beach. This was as close to home as he could get, just far enough away that the water wouldn’t touch him, the spray couldn’t reach him.

 It was agony. It was torture. Watching the tide roll in, the gentle lapping of the waves, the spray of the salt, the clouded, windy sky, stretching out across that blue oasis.

 He shivered, arms tightening around his middle, curling against himself, salty tears spilling down his face.

 It hurt, stars above, it hurt. He could feel them calling to him, begging him to come home, to answer their calls, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t if he wasn’t touching the sea, and he could never touch the sea again.

 “Hey! Are you ok? What are you doing out here?” He looked up at the worried voice, meeting green eyes and black hair, with white streaked bangs.

 “What do you want?” His voice was flat, empty, exhausted. The stranger furrowed his brow, confused.

 “I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re barely wearing any clothes, sitting on the beach when a thunderstorm is rolling in, in the middle of autumn. Do you have a death wish, or something?”

 “maybe. I haven’t quite decided yet, if it is better to die now or slowly waste away pining for the sea. Or perhaps my owner,” he spat the word, bitter on his tongue, “will find me and the last of my memories will fade until I have nothing left but an empty, yearning, desperate desire for something I can no longer name.” The stranger stared at him for a long moment, taking him in.

 He was wearing ragged shorts, no shirt or shoes or anything else. His hair was smooth and silky, despite his constant exposure to salt water. His face was sharp and angular, what he supposed humans considered breathtakingly handsome, with his large, dark brown eyes and perfectly tanned skin. He supposed that’s what had got him into this mess in the first place.

 He doubled over, clutching his head as a resounding, echoing cry keened through his mind, and he shot to his feet, barely restraining himself from rushing into the water, eyes wide and breaths heaving.

 “no. No! I’m here! I’m right here, I’m not lost! PLEASE!” He screamed at the waves, knowing they couldn’t hear him, knowing they wouldn’t hear him, ever again.

 Leaving him. They were leaving him. They were giving him up, they were migrating to new waters, they were marking him as lost, and the worst part was, as much as he hated it, as much as it tore him to pieces, they were right.

 It was only logical. He had come ashore and not come back within 24 hours. It was too dangerous for anyone else to come ashore and search, not when they didn’t know what had happened, not when he might have been discovered, not when there could be others waiting.

 Selkie coats sold for quite a fortune, after all.

 So did the selkies they were attatched to.

He let out a harsh sob, would have collapsed to the ground if the stranger hadn’t caught him, lowered him gently to the sand.

 He was doomed. His connection to the sea would grow weaker, his connection to his coat stronger, until he was forced, compelled, to go to it, to go to his master, to obey his orders.

 And everyone knew what happened to selkies whose coats were stolen. Everyone knew what humans wanted with the alluring, beautiful, mysterioius sea folk.

 Yet another loss, to shatter him, break him, soon his body, and worse, his mind, would no longer be his own. He was owned. Like a thing, like a toy, like a doll. Just the thought made him ill, truly, throwing himself into the sea and dissolving into the foam was the best possible option.

 He was freezing. Or he thought he was. He was so cold he didn’t even feel cold anymore, a pleasant, fuzzy warmth filling him, as cold droplets began to fall from the sky. Each one left him feeling slick and slimy, like swimming through oil. It left him feeling dirtier than before, and he shuddered at the feel of it, bile rising in his throat.

 The stranger was saying something, he thought. He couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in his ears, the cotton filling his head with fear/panic/pain/despair/longing. It was too much, it was too cold, it was too futile, and his brain shut down before he could drive himself further to madness.

 …

Swimming. The water parts around him, as he swims. There’s a voice, calling him onwards, pulling him towards it. It sings with power, it glows with warmth, with the promise of all the answers he’s ever searched for, all the knowledge he could ever wish for, and he drives his tail faster through the water, towards the light.

 Then it turns cold. Ice wraps around him, the water freezing, he can’t reach the surface, he can’t breathe, he’s running out of air. He thrashes, trying to escape the chains he can feel, dragging him down, words echoing through the water.

 “Come to me.” Burns, it burns, he won’t, he can’t, he-

 His eyes flew open and he let out a strangled cry of pain, squeezing his eyes closed and counting his breathes, shoving and fighting that voice until it abated, faded away into nothing, and he pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them tight, still shaking from the call.

 It was so strong, already. So hard to resist, though he had been asleep, which made it more difficult to fight, but still. How long until it was completely enthralling? How long until he lost himself forever?

 With another jolt of panic, he realized he wasn’t on the beach anymore. There had been a blanket draped around him, he was on a couch, in a house, and he felt his pulse speed. Had he already been caught? Were they just keeping him captive until his owner arrived? He had to fight, he had to think, he had to do something!

 He looked around the room, a coffee table sat in front of him, a bookshelf against the wall, photos sitting on a shelf, an entertainment set with a television, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing he could use.

 He froze as he heard footsteps, eyes dilating, and he bared his slightly too sharp teeth, hissing a warning as the human came into view. His hands were held in the air, and he took a step back, eyes lowered to the ground. Everything about his body language screamed I am not a threat, I don’t want to hurt you, and despite himself, he let his guard down. It was the stranger from the beach.

 “You stopped hissing. Does that mean you’re not gonna bite me?” That got a small laugh out of him, the innocence and pure curiosity in the human’s tone.

 “I am not. Why am I here?” He asked, uneasiness churning in his gut.

 “Well, you passed out on the beach, and it looked like you had hypothermia, your lips were turning blue, seriously freaked me out, so I had to get you indoors and warmed up. We’re at my apartment, right now. My friend is also here, but, um, we decided it was best I come talk to you, since you already kinda knew me.” Well meaning, then. “I would have called someone, for you, but you didn’t have an id or anything, so, we were just waiting for you to wake up.” And considerate. Not intent on keeping him hostage then, that was a relief. Not that it mattered much.

 “So… you’re a selkie, yeah?” He shot to his feet at that question, teeth bared again, fists clenched, eyes flashing as he backed up against the wall, so no one could get the drop on him. How did he know that? Had he gotten him wrong? Was he just holding him here until his owner arrived? How else would he know?

 “Remus! What did you do?!” He whipped his head as a new person appeared in the doorway, growl dying on his throat as he saw the new stranger. Dark violet eyes, pitch black hair, dark shadows around his eyes, pale and lanky.

 A Night Sylph. A spirit of air, tied to darkness, helping to bring the night and protecting the creatures of it. He himself may not be a creature of air, but a Sylph wouldn’t allow anything to harm a mythical, not if they hadn’t acted against his creatures first.

 “I apologize. I did not realize your friend was a Sylph. Not many humans could identify a Selkie, much less one without their coat. I was afraid…” He trailed off, unable to bring himself to say the words aloud, his shoulders slumping and hands relaxing, as he felt the Sylph’s concerned eyes on him, gaze softening.

 “it was stolen.” The sylph said softly, not a question, but he nodded anyways, unable to speak past the lump in his throat, eyes watering again. “how long?” He took a shaking breath.

 “36 hours and counting. My pod is already moving on. I give myself another 12 to 18 hours, before I have no choice but to go to Him.” He whispered, the sorrow washing through him nearly drowning him.

 “That is not going to happen. We are not going to let that happen.” His eyes shot up, the Sylph’s voice fiery, his eyes glowing with his determination and fierceness. The human nodded, hand slipping into the Sylph’s, eyes just as hard and cold.

 “We’re gonna find that coat. We’re gonna find that little bitch, and I’m gonna beat the shit out of him, for even daring to lay a hand on it.” His mouth was agape, looking between the two, confused, but feeling a small bubble of hope start to build in his chest.

 “why?” his voice is so small, but he doesn’t have it in him to be any louder.

 “Because it’s wrong! It’s slavery, and it’s hurting you, and it’s cruel.” The human replies, and the Sylph smiled at him softly.

 “I’m Virgil. This idiot is Remus.” Virgil said, bumping Remus’s shoulder lightly, Remus rolling his eyes.

 “Logan. You can call me Logan.” Virgil nodded, carefully coming just a bit closer as he looked over Logan.

 “Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell us what you remember. That’ll give us somewhere to start.” He nodded, sinking into an armchair, knees once again pulled to his chest.

 “Do you want anything to drink? Or eat?” Remus asked. He shook his head, and Remus sat on the edge of the couch, Virgil perching on the arm of it. Eating anything now would just make him sick, his stomach was so tied in knots he could barely breathe properly.

 “I… it’s blurry. I was in town. I was in… in a park. I like to look at the plants, at the trees. I had my coat with me, obviously, I can’t go anywhere without it. It was wrapped around my shoulders, like a shawl. Then… then suddenly it wasn’t. Someone grabbed it, from behind me. I was stunned, I tried to chase, I only got a look from behind. Light hair… tall, I… he looked at me. Eyes, mismatched eyes. He didn’t try and take me, he knew he didn’t need to. Knew I would be forced to come to him, now that I’m stuck on land.” He shivered, remembering the glint in the man’s eyes, the smug smile on his face.

 “What happens? If you go back to the water without your coat?”

 “Remus!” Virgil hissed, but a wry smile crossed his face.

 “I… die. I dissolve, into the ocean, into the waves, into nothing. As if I never existed. Not… not the worst option, truly. At least then I’d be home.”

 “no. Logan, that is not going to happen. You won’t have to make that decision.” He flinched at the hand on his shoulder, looking up at Remus’s soft, kind eyes.

 “We’re gonna find him, Lo. I promise.” He simply nodded. He knew the probability of them retrieving his coat in time was low, but he was willing to let them try. He didn’t have any other choice.

 “I can tell it hasn’t left town. That’s all I know.” Virgil hummed in thought.

 “Well, you got a fair description of him, not that many people have heterochromia. And we know he knew what you were, so it’s someone with knowledge of mythicals. Probably a collector, or someone who works for them. That narrows it down quite a bit. I’ll go scope things out, find a likely area. You’ll be able to feel it, if it’s close, yeah?” Virgil asked, and he nodded once more. “cool. Remus, stay with him. I’ll be back soon.”

 “What should I do?” Logan asked, and Virgil softened further.

 “Try and get some more rest. You’re still exhausted, and it’s only going to get worse the longer you’re away from the water. Build up strength now, while you can.” He didn’t think he’d be getting much rest, not with the fear and anxiety filling his every pore, but he acquiesced anyway.

 “Are you cold?” Remus murmured, feeling his forehead. He let out a harsh laugh.

 “I’m always cold, without my coat. Nothing else feels… right, or warm, everything else itches or scratches or…” He trailed off in frustration, raking his hand through his hair, surprised as Remus slid into the chair next to him, before pulling him onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him.

 He was warm, stars above, Remus was warm, and he couldn’t help himself, as he melted into the touch, warmth surrounding him for the first time in what seemed like forever.

 He didn’t understand, why it was so easy to surrender himself to this human, didn’t know why he felt safe, why it warmed him so deeply from the inside out, when so recently he had been irrevocably wounded by a human. He didn’t have the energy to care, though an answer niggled in the back of his brain.

 Something about Remus being so passionate, barely knowing him, yet reading him as easily as a favorite book, the way he was so willing to fight for him, the way he didn’t for a moment seem to hesitate, in anything that he did.

 He didn’t know him. Barely knew him for more than five minutes. But he’d somehow never felt more right.

 “This better?” Remus whispered in his ear, and he let out a small hum of agreement, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth brought out the overwhelming ache for sleep in his bones.

 Remus looked up in time to catch the small smile on Virgil’s face. Virgil saw him looking and shot him a thumbs up, before quietly vanishing out the door, a wisp of soft fog against the air as he shifted into his ethereal form.

 …

 The beach. Water lapping on the shore, sun shining warm and bright. He can hear his pod, off in the distance, can see the pups’ heads popping up through the water, splashing and playing. He calls out to them, wading into the water.

 He swims towards them, but the faster and harder he swims, the thicker the water seems to get, the darker the sea becomes around him, his family vanishing into the distance. He tries to call out, but his voice is locked in his throat.

 He can’t breathe. He is choking on the water, it is filling his lungs, it is dragging him down, blackness surrounding him as he sinks into the depths. He claws at the water around him, he screams, bubbles leaking from his mouth as his mind goes fuzzy.

 “Come now, little pup. Stop resisting. You’ll feel so much better, once you just give in.” The voice is smooth and silky, sweet and warm as honey. He shouldn’t listen, he knows he shouldn’t listen, but he can’t quite remember why.

 “That’s right, lovely. Come home-“

 “Logan!”

 He jolted awake, heart racing, unsure where he was, what was happening. He was pinned to the floor, wrists held down, and for a moment he thrashed, panic blinding him, before the soft tone cut through his haze, and he relaxed, head thumping back against the floor, tears forming in his eyes.

 “Logan?” Virgil, from the doorway, he heard the door close. He must’ve just gotten back. Remus’s face came into view above him.

 “You back with us?” He nodded, and Remus carefully released his hold on his wrists, supporting him as he helped him sit up. Instantly, Logan took stock of the scratches on Remus’s arms, the four bleeding cuts across his cheek, and he buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

 “I’m sorry. I couldn’t…” He broke off, sighing raggedly.

 “He was calling you. You couldn’t help it, Lo.” Virgil said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

 “I’m sorry.” He whispered again, feeling Remus wrap his arms around him.

 “It’s not your fault. You scared me, more than anything. I could tell you weren’t… you. You were trying to leave, I had to grab you, and you just started clawing at me. Caught me off guard, but I’ve had worse than this, trust me.” He half laughed at that, the panic starting to settle into something a bit more tolerable.

 “Did you find anything?” He asked, wiping at his eyes, looking up at Virgil, who pursed his lips.

 “I think so. Rumors, an old warehouse, downtown. Strange noises, strange lights, nothing confirmed, but I did a quick flyby, I didn’t go close, Remus,” Virgil commented at Remus’s stern glance, “Just enough to get a sense, and there was a faint spell around it, to divert attention. Just enough to make it uninteresting to any humans, who don’t already know what to look for, anyway.” Logan got to his feet, a bit wobbly. The overwhelming need for the ocean was pounding in his pulse, pain in his chest, and it took a moment to steady himself against it.

 “Let’s go, then. What are we waiting for?” He asked.

 “Logan, pal, you’re in no shape for a raid.” He shook his head.

 “It doesn’t matter. Any longer and I will not be able to resist the next call. That one was so strong, I have a few hours, at most, before I will be completely incapacitated. And you can bet you won’t be able to find it without me, he will have hidden it, somewhere, hidden it well, if he’s smart. It is now or never, as I believe your saying goes.” He sounded more sure than he felt. A slight ache was pounding at his head, and he felt slightly dizzy, a bit off kilter, but he couldn’t let that stop him. This was their best chance, their only chance.

 Virgil and Remus exchanged a glance, a silent conversation held in their eyes, but after a few moments, Remus nodded and Virgil sighed. Logan was right, and they both knew it.

 “Alright. Let’s do this.”

…

 His pulse raced as he stared at the unassuming building. He could feel it, feel it, feel it. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted, eyes trained on the doors.

 “Here?” Virgil asked lowly. He nodded, hands shaking with anticipation. It was close, it was so, so close.

 Carefully, they snuck around the side of the building, managing to find an unlocked window. It was a tight fit for Remus, but Logan was slender enough he slid through easily, and Virgil simply flowed inside in his noncorporeal form.

 They landed with soft thumps inside the darkened warehouse, and instantly, they froze at a soft, bell like sound.

 “Kiddos, what are you doing here? Run!” A small, musical voice hissed at them. They turned their heads, surprised to see a small birdcage sitting by the window, a tiny, winged figure clutching at the bars, giving off a soft blue glow. Virgil’s eyes widened, and he was instantly examining the cage, biting his lip as he assessed the lock.

 “Don’t worry, Spriggan. I’ll have you out in a jiffy.” Virgil murmured, eyes deepening in their violet glow, as air swirled around the lock. His gaze intensified, the air around him almost buzzing. Then the lock popped open.

 The sprite gasped softly as Virgil opened the cage door, fluttering to the edge, almost hesitant to step outside.

 “It’s ok. I promise.” Virgil whispered, and the sprite fluttered out, a quiet, disbelieving laugh ringing out as he flew a few laps around Virgil’s head, before settling on his nose and hugging his forehead as far as his tiny arms could reach.

 “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sylva. But you have to go! You have to leave, now, before he-“

 “Finds you? Please, Patton, I knew they were here from the moment they stepped inside.” Instantly, the sprite was gone, buzzing out the window as fast as his wings would carry him, leaving the three to spin around and face the darkness alone.

 Logan gasped, icy fear plunging into his heart as he met those gold and brown eyes, that arrogant smirk.

 “Give it back. Now.” Virgil growled, and the figure laughed, a dangerously soft sound.

 “As if you are in any position to bargain. You did just cost me my Sprite. Though I suppose a Sylph is a fair trade, an upgrade, even.” He mused. Virgil hissed, eyes flashing as he shifted incorporeal, a dark splash of smoke as he swirled up and away.

 “As if you could catch me.” The stranger’s smile widened.

 “Oh, you do amuse me. I think you will be a new favorite of mine. I will enjoy watching you struggle.” He snapped, and golden light flared to life around him, golden strings unspooling from his fingers, twisting and turning through the air. Virgil dodged and weaved, avoiding the threads that were spiderwebbing through the rafters, slowly closing in on him.

 Remus growled, and charged at the man, who lithely stepped out of the way, as he stumbled past him. He felt something coil around him, sending him falling, and he looked up to see a huge, hissing golden serpent wrapping tight around his body. He jolted as Virgil cried out, and he saw him falling through air, landing hard on his back on the ground, gold thread squeezing around him. Then the snake bit into his neck, and the world blurred.

 “Remus!” Logan lunged towards him, halting mid step at the soft glimmer he caught in the corner of his eye, slowly turning to face the sorcerer, eyes locked on the soft fur coat held in his hands.

 It shimmered, gray and black, smooth and silky, and for a moment, Logan could feel the ocean around him, could see the endless waves, could taste the salt, could feel the cool relief of water.

 “There now, little pup. Isn’t that better?” He purred. Logan couldn’t breathe. His heart was frozen in his chest, he couldn’t even bring himself to blink, the want, the overwhelming need filling his soul, his very being. Slowly, despite himself, he nodded.

 “Logan… no…” a voice begged weakly. Distantly, he thought he knew that voice, but his coat was all he could see, the gold and brown imprinting into his soul, and his whole being relaxed, putty in his veins.

 “Now, lovely, why don’t you come with me?” Emptily, he nodded, following the sorcerer’s directions, his hand on the small of his back guiding him into a small, dark, room, and he passively sat. His mind was fuzzy, soft, barely aware. Something was wrong, something was very wrong, but the feeling flowed over his head, lost in the heady buzz filling his chest.

 Dimly, he felt something cold clamping around his ankles, felt something hard clamp around his wrists. He whimpered, trying to move, but a voice shushed him.

 “None of that, now, darling.” A hand caressed his cheek, tilting his chin up to meet gold and brown. They stopped his breath, they sucked him in, and he was drowning in those hypnotizing pools, slumping weakly back against the wall. “Wonderful. Oh, you are a pretty one, aren’t you?” He felt those hands turning his chin, examining him, before stepping away with a dark chuckle. Logan’s head fell back against the wall, eyes blurred and unseeing, mind empty and buzzing with soft, hazy warmth. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing, lovely. Jussst sssleeep.” His eyes fluttered shut, the man's voice echoing softly through his mind, recognizing dimly the feel of a spell weaving into him, taking him into a dark, empty oblivion. He didn’t hear the door shut, the lock turn, didn’t notice the pure black darkness of the room. He didn’t notice or feel or think anything. Not anymore.

 …

 Virgil was dying. Or he thought he was. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t… there wasn’t any air, he couldn’t live without air, he was air, it was his being, he needed it. He gasped in a choking breath, managing to raise his head just enough to see. He was in a large, glass cylinder. He could see a grate at the top, could feel it, it was a vacuum, he was trapped in a vacuum, he was helpless, he was defenseless, he was trapped.

 Roman. He could see Roman, through the glass. He was tied to a chair, he could see the sorcerer circling him, taunting him, if he had to guess, and he tried to do anything, tried to get to his feet, but he only succeeded in falling to his hands and knees, dizzy and gasping and consciousness fading, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t leave Remus to this mess all on his own.  

 But it felt like a thousand pounds of rocks sitting on his chest, it felt like the weight of a mountain pressing down on him, and he weakly clawed at his throat, desperate for air, any air, as his vision flickered, dimming.

 Then, suddenly, shattering glass. He wheezed in a desperate breath, kneeling on broken glass, barely getting his bearings as another lungful of air filled him with power.

 He didn’t have time to wait. He shot to his feet, eyes flashing electric violet, form dissolving and coalescing into a menacing, flashing cloud of angry black, shadows growing throughout the room, darkening everything. A low growl rumbled, like thunder, and then the room was filled with crackling, sizzling lightning.

 …

 Roman woke tied to a chair. He groaned, a bit surprised to be waking at all. He had thought for sure that snake was going to kill him.

 “Hello there, dearie. Pleasure to meet you properly.” He hissed, struggling against the rope, glaring as those eyes came into view, the man leaning casually on the arms of the chair, too close in his space.

 “What do you want?” He spat, not ceasing his struggle, even as the stranger tutted, tilting the chair back on its back legs as he circled it.

 “You see, I was going to kill you. Just a human, just in my way, too much care and desperation to stop chasing me, not when I have your little pets.”

 “They aren’t my pets. They’re my friends.” The man just chuckled, slamming the chair back down on all four legs, causing him to bite his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

 “But then I realized something. You are not the simple human you appear to be, are you?” He froze, breathe catching, before his defiant mask slid back into place.

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man tutted again, grabbing his chin and forcing himself to stare into those eyes.

 “Liar, liar, little changeling. Why didn’t they want you, I wonder? Stunted growth? Crippled limb? Ah,” He snapped, “Crippled magic.” Remus winced, jerking his chin out of his hold, glaring at the ground. “Bit touchy, are we?”

 “Fuck off.” He looked up, and spat directly into that smug face, enjoying immensely the expression of pure shock and outrage that twisted his lips as he wiped away the bloody spit.

 “Oh, you will pay for that.” Then the room exploded in lightning.

 “-us! Remus!” He groaned, slowly blinking his eyes open, blinking again as a soft glow of blue buzzed across his vision.

 “Virg? What… what happened?” Virgil rubbed the back of his head, shooting him a sheepish grin as he helped him sit up.

 “Got a little heated. Lightning went a bit haywire. Gave you a good shock, on accident.”

 “How did you get out? And I thought you left us!” Remus accused, getting dizzy as he tried to track the sprite’s nervous fluttering.

 “He left to go get help. Something you should have done before charging into a trap!” Remus groaned, looking up as someone reached out their hand, helping pull him to his feet.

 “Really, Patton? You had to go get him?”

 “You’re lucky he did! What were you thinking, Ree?” He shrugged, meeting the identical face of Roman, his changeling counterpart, the human that had been taken in his place and grown up with everything he should have had, should have been. Which, turns out, wasn’t actually all that great, so he supposed he actually kinda owed Roman.

 Still, by the time they’d met, they’d both spent more time in each other’s realms than their own. Roman was more fae than human, and Remus was more human than fae, so they decided to keep their roles, their homes they’d made for themselves. They hadn’t even known what they were, until their early teens.

 “we couldn’t wait for you. He’s a Selkie, Ro, we didn’t have time.” Roman softened a bit at the distress of Remus, sighing.

 “you panicked. I get that, Remus, I do. It just… scared me. Seeing Virgil like that, seeing you…” Roman trailed off, shaking his head, wry smile on his lips. Remus’s eyes widened, gaze flying through the room, skating over the sorcerer, who was now bound to an upright support beam with shimmering, nearly invisible thread. Faery thread. There were very few things that could break it, certainly nothing the sorcerer had on hand. He didn’t care.

 “Logan. Where…” His eyes locked on a door, and he sprinted over to it, growling as he tried the handle, finding it locked. He didn’t wait for Virgil to pop it, instead he kicked it with all his might, sending the door slamming open.

 “Remus!” Virgil hissed, appearing at his side, but he barely noticed, instead falling to his knees, Logan filling his entire vision, fury clouding his mind at the chains shackling his wrists and ankles to the floor.

 “Get them off.” He hissed, unsure who he was even talking to.

 “Virgil, you’ll have to do it. They’re enchanted against magical meddling.” It took Virgil longer than normal to pop the locks, the enchantment making them a bit trickier to handle, but finally, they were all removed, and Remus carefully pulled Logan onto his lap.

 “Logan… wake up, please.” He gently shook Logan’s shoulder, but the Selkie remained limp and still as a corpse. His face was too pale, his breathing deep and slow. He brushed back Logan’s hair, frowning at the warmth of his forehead, realizing too his skin was dry, flaking.

 “he won’t wake up. He’s sick.” He looked helplessly up at Roman and Patton, who was sitting on Roman’s shoulder, wings fluttering nervously.

 “We need to find his coat. Now.” Virgil muttered. Remus stood, still cradling Logan, snarling as he entered the main room, eyes aflame as he glared at the sorcerer, who was now awake, eyes glinting with almost amusement.

 “What did you do to him?” He snarled, spitting, mere inches away. The sorcerer simply smirked.

 “Whatever do you mean, little changeling?” Remus growled, would have punched him, if he wasn’t holding Logan in his arms, then Virgil was at his side, carefully moving him back, getting in his line of sight.

 “Logan-“ Virgil shook his head.

 “I know. But we will handle it. You and Patton go take care of him.” Remus hesitated, but his shoulders slumped and he nodded.

 “alright. Just kill him for me, won’t you?” a ghost of a smile flitted across Virgil’s face.

 “Oh, we’ll do one better. We’ll make him wish he were dead.”

 …

 Roman turned to face the sorcerer, hands clasped behind him, Virgil leaning against the wall in the shadows, still shaky.

 “I believe I’ve heard of you. You’re a freelancer for ‘collectors’.” He spat the word, ash in his mouth. “Deceit, I believe you go by.” The sorcerer’s smirk didn’t drop, but something wary shifted in his eyes. “Usually you’re more careful than this, to my knowledge you’ve never been caught in the act, before tonight.” That seemed to hit a nerve, Deceit’s eyes narrowed.

 “How many creatures have you ‘caught’? Torn away from their homes and condemned to torture and captivity and slavery? They have homes, they have families, they’re people!” Virgil spoke up, eyes electric, each word crackling.

 “It you protected them better I wouldn’t be able to catch them.” Virgil recoiled, then surged forwards, flying around Deceit’s head so fast all the oxygen was sucked out of the air.

 He finally pulled back, coalescing next to Roman, satisfaction rushing through him as the sorcerer coughed, wheezing in breaths.

 “Where is his coat?” Virgil demanded, meeting Deceit’s glare with his own.

 “Why don’t you ask your little selkie, hmm? Poor thing can’t find it? Oh, that’s right,” he snapped, “you can’t. And nothing you do will change that.” Roman’s eyes flashed, and the string tightened, causing Deceit to hiss in pain as the sharp strands cut through his skin. “You don’t even know what you have, do you? For all your self importance, you really are an idiot. Nothing in the world will make me give up that coat.” The strings dug in deeper, beads of red leaking through the torn fabric of his clothes, slicing through flesh like butter.

 “Explain.” Virgil hissed. Deceit rolled his eyes, not saying a word.

 “Fine. Hard way then. Virgil, tear this place apart. I’ll tear his mind apart. If there’s one good thing about being raised by seers, it’s this.” Before Deceit could move, Roman had pressed his hands to each of Deceit’s temples, mind foccused on one thought only. “See.”

 …

 “Well?” Remus asked, looking down at Patton, who was kneeling on Logan’s forehead, hands glowing softly. The sprite slumped back on his knees, exhausted.

 “I can tell it’s a spell, some kind of sleep spell. It’s strong, too, nothing I can crack, but nothing that explains why he’s sick like this. Selkies don’t get sick like this, no matter how far from the water they are. I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Carefully, he scooped Patton up in his hand, setting him down on his shoulder.

 They were sitting in the back of the van, Logan laid out across the backseat, his head resting in Remus’s lap as he nervously ran his hands through Logan’s hair. He didn’t understand, Logan had been relatively fine just a few hours ago, now he was burning up under his hands.

 His eyes shot up at the sound of the door opening, gaze flickering between Roman’s sympathetic brown eyes and Virgil’s thin lipped stare.

 “did you get it? Please, please, tell me you got it.” Roman wordlessly handed him a soft, silky seal pelt. Remus nearly sobbed in relief, wrapping it around Logan like a blanket, stroking his cheek.

 “wake up, wake up, wake up.” He whispered, almost a prayer, searching Logan’s face for any sign of movement.

 “remus. He’s a direct descendant of Sedna. That’s why he’s ill. He literally cannot survive on land. He’s… he’s dying.”

 “Then let’s go! What are we waiting for?” He demanded. Roman and Virgil exchanged a look, one that he didn’t miss, sadness and something soft in their eyes.

 “We’re too far from the ocean. We won’t get there in time.” A sob clawed its way out of Remus’s throat, and he shook his head.

 “NO! No, we promised him we’d get him home, we promised him! So get in the car and FUCKING DRIVE!” He screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

 “Remus-“

 “Just do it. Please. We still have a chance, there’s still a chance.” He pleaded.

 “Even if we get him back, we have no way to break the spell. He won’t survive.” Remus glared up at Virgil through watery eyes.

 “We’re not going to just do nothing! Now get in and drive or I’ll do it myself.” Remus hissed. Virgil and Roman exchanged another glance, and Patton patted his neck in sympathy, but they complied without another word.

 …

 Logan was shaking. Chills wracked his body, and he was heaving in raspy, unsteady breaths. Sweat covered his hair, sticking to his forehead, and his face was paling even further, as the life drained out of him one breath at a time.

 “Come on, Lo. Just hold on, just hold on for me.” He murmured, trying to keep his own voice steady and reassuring, trying to keep his own panic from swallowing him whole.

 “We’re here.” Virgil breathed out, the car jolting to a stop, Roman not having bothered with the parking lot, pulling directly onto the sand, as far as he could. Instantly, Remus bolted to his feet, oh so gently lifting Logan into his arms, bolting for the water, tucking his coat tightly around him.

 His shaking had stopped. As Remus ran, he realized Logan’s shaking had stopped, he couldn’t feel him breathing anymore, he couldn’t feel his heartbeat. They were nearly there, nearly to the water, he couldn’t die now, they were so close, surely he was still holding on.

 He gasped at the shock of cold water, not stopping until he was up to his knees, Logan floating in the water before him, his arms holding him so his head was above the surface.

 “Logan… come on, please, Logan, please, wake up, wake up, you stupid seal!” He shouted, tears streaming down his face at Logan’s lifeless form, limp and still, head lolling with the waves.

 “Remus… he’s gone…” Patton, he had darted out to Remus had settled on his shoulder once more, looking back to Virgil and Roman, who were waiting on the shore. Another sob tore from his throat, and he shook his head, pulling Logan close, burying his face in the selkie’s soft hair.

 “no. nononono we got him home! He can’t… he can’t… he can’t just steal my heart and then die before I can tell him, he can’t just leave, he can’t!” Remus sobbed, shoulders shaking, wishing for all the world Logan would open his eyes. He would give anything, for Logan to open his eyes.

 “would you, child of fae, human in nature? Your kind are cruel, cold. What would you truly give, to bring him back?” He didn’t look up at the softly accented woman’s voice. He knew, some part of him knew.

 Sedna. Goddess of the sea, mother of all of its creatures, guardian and vengeful spirit of the ocean and all of its depths. Logan’s biological mother.

 “anything. I would give anything.” He whispered, meeting her deep, infinite dark eyes, that sparkled with all the mystery of the darkest deepest depths. He saw his own sorrow reflected ten fold there, though her gaze hardened as he met her unfathamoble eyes.

 “Choose your words carefully, mortal fae.” His breath caught. He’d spent enough time around Roman, around other mythicals, to know that tone, that careful wording.

 “What do I have to do? What do you need from me?” He asked, and the goddess actually hesitated, almost taken aback by his intensity. She held out her arms, and relunctantly, he let her take him.

 “oh, my heart, my soul, my babe. What have they done to you?” She murmured softly, kissing Logan’s forehead. “but even still…” she gathered herself, looking up at Remus, something softer in her eyes now, a desperate sort of hope. “A life. Willingly given, willingly gifted. Only then can you hope to find him.” Remus let out a low chuckle, though it lacked any mirth.

 “You had me worried there. For a second I thought it might be hard.” He met her eyes, once more, drowning in them, a soft smile tinging his lips. “My life, huh? It’s not much of one, I’m afraid, but you can have it. Willingly and no regrets. Not… not if it gives us a chance.” Sedna nodded once. He didn’t have time to even hold his breath, before he was pulled beneath the waves.

 “NO!” Virgil screamed, as Remus was pulled under, in an instant swirling out to Sedna, his form blurred as he hovered above the waves.

 “This is not of your business, Sylph.” She stated, not looking away from Logan, and Virgil hissed.

 “Like hell, it isn’t.” She looked up at that, eyes sharp but sympathetic.

 “It was his choice to make. If his love is pure, they will both come back to us. Have some faith.”

 “If it isn’t two innocent lives were lost today.” He growled,

 “Innocent lives are lost every second, Sylph. At least this has the chance of righting a wrong.”

 …

 He is sinking. He can just barely see a faint halo of light, but it is far, far, far above, and fading fast.

 Where is he?

 He tries to remember, tries to wrack his brain, for what this dark, endlessly sinking abyss could be, but the farther from the light, the blurrier it all gets.

 There’s something important, he should be doing. Yes, there was something urgent, something he was looking for, but it is hazy now, and he doesn’t know what it is or was.

 He doesn’t know who he is.

 That should be worrying, but it isn’t. Not here. Here, it feels inconsequential. Everything seems small and meaningless, and he thinks he would be perfectly content to drift down and down and down in this darkness for eternity, thinking of everything and nothing, letting the darkness swallow him until what’s left of his awareness fades.

 But something pulls at him. Something forces him to open his eyes, to take a deep breath, something he’s surprised to find he can do underwater. Or, he thinks he’s underwater. For the first time, he looks around.

 He’s surprised to see shapes, in the darkness. Some have outlines of color, just faintly flickering, some are gray, and fade in front of his eyes, but all are drifting listlessly, down and down, and somehow he knows that the deeper they go, the more they fade, until nothing is left.

 That sends a jolt of panic through him.

 Logan. He has to find Logan.

 He doesn’t know quite who that is, but the name lights something inside him, and though it takes all the will in his body, he forces his limbs to move. He forces himself to swim downwards, searching, searching, searching-

 There! A faint flicker, a faint something, that tugs him closer. It was so dark, he could barely see where he was going, but he didn’t let up for a moment, not when his lungs began to burn, not when he felt his limbs start to go numb, not when he could see the outline of himself flickering in and out, his mind going hazy.

 He pushed forwards, and suddenly he was there, grabbing onto the ethereal form of Logan, pulling him close, and without thinking, he pressed their lips together, exhaling all of his air into Logan’s lungs, breathing all of his own life into Logan, his eyes slipping closed as Logan’s dark ones flew open, his surprised gasp inhaling the last of Remus’s air, and the world blurred, his outline fading quickly to gray, and his last thought was the hope that Logan would live enough life for the both of them.

 …

 Remus gasped, coughing, heaving in huge breath after huge breath, vision blurred from tears, every part of him sore and aching as he choked on the air.

 “Remus.” His eyes jerked up, and he met deep browns, that perfect, beautiful face, and Logan reached out, cupping his cheek, wiping away the tears slipping down his face, as he let out a small, desperately happy laugh. Then he leaned forwards, crushing their lips together, feeling Logan melt into his touch, hands tangling in his hair, and even after their lips parted, Remus didn’t let go, nuzzling against Logan’s hair, silent tears still falling.

 “how… what…” he whispered, unable to form the words he was looking for. How was he alive, how was he here, how was Logan here, how had he lived, when he’d given his entire soul to breathe life back into Logan.

 “You love me.” Was the somewhat awed, somewhat small answer from Logan, and he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, a smile dancing across his lips.

 “yes. I love you, Logan.” He replied, somehow melting even more at the soft, adoring gaze Logan was bestowing upon him, his lips quirked at the corners in a small smile.

 “You were willing to give your life for mine. Even if you couldn’t live to live with me, even though I would gain everything and you would lose all, you would still have given it freely. That intent, was enough. It was a test, of sorts. And you passed, Remus.” Logan intertwined their fingers, and Remus couldn’t help it anymore as a desperate, relieved sob shook his frame as he fell into Logan’s arms, crying into his shoulder.

 “you still have to go. You still have to leave, go back to the water. I’m still losing you.” He choked out, feeling Logan brushing his thumb over his knuckles. He heard Logan chuckle softly.

 “Not quite. You still gave me part of yourself, part of your soul. And you now hold some of mine. We’re tied together now, Remus. Anywhere you step I can also. Anywhere I pass through so will you be able.”

 “but… you won’t get sick? You won’t… I won’t keep you, I won’t make you stay, you don’t have to stay.” Just the thought of forcing Logan to stay made him ill.

 “I know, Remus. I know you wouldn’t. I know you would never take my coat, I know you would never force me to do anything, I trust you. It won’t make me sick. We can spend time, between land and sea, there’s so much I can show you, Remus, worlds you wouldn’t even be able to imagine.”

 They both looked up at the sound of hesitant footsteps. Roman was approaching, having kept his distance and given them space on the shore, where Logan had pulled Remus, just out of the surf. Virgil was still speaking to Sedna, form flickering with displeasure and anger, while she was nothing but calm and placid, the soft glow of Patton clear on his shoulder.

 “Remus. If you ever do something like that again I will strangle you with my bare hands.” Roman muttered furiously, eliciting a high laugh, Remus soft as he met Roman’s eyes for a moment, understanding passing between them without a word needing to be spoken. “And Logan… take care of him. He’s a lot softer than he’d like you to believe.” Remus huffed in indignation, melting with a happy hum as Logan pressed a kiss to his cheek, causing the selkie to shake his head in amusement.

 “I will. I promise.” With that Roman nodded, walking several yards down the beach before simply vanishing.

 “He’s such a drama queen.” Logan chuckled.

 “Nothing at all like you, I’m sure.” Remus snorted, tilting his head back, to look up at Logan, his Logan, His.

 “We should get you indoors. You’re sopping wet, and it’s cold.” Remus nuzzled closer to Logan, gently butting his chin with his head.

 “Good thing I’ve got you, then, keeping me warm.” And before Logan could argue, he had captured the selkie’s lips once more, lost in a different, amazingly beautiful kind of warmth.

[spencers-dria]

Trauma

Someone To Stay Ch. 9

Spencer x fem reader

It's been several weeks since Y/N and I started our weekly movie nights. After starting Harry Potter we decided that we would keep watching our way through the series until we finished them. Last week I was out of town on all of her days off, but tonight we get to watch our favorite together, Prisoner of Azkaban. Seeing as we both love Halloween, this doesn't come as much of a surprise.

Last time I had asked to borrow her Harry Potter cookbook. As a surprise I've been cooking pumpkin pasties. I normally don't do much cooking, but this was well worth it. Movie night has become incredibly casual, so i slip into some purple pajama pants and a black t shirt before driving to her apartment. We decided movie nights would all take place at her apartment, seeing as she had the nice TV with a decent sound system. I had previously spent almost all my time reading, so all I had was my mom's old TV tucked away in the corner, only used when I felt the need to binge Dr. Who.

It's not long before i'm knocking at her door, warm snacks ready to go. She opens the door and looks down with a huge grin.

"Are those what I think they are?"

I nod, glad to see she's excited about them. After a moment I notice a pleasant smell wafting from the kitchen.

"You made something too?" I peek my head into the kitchen hoping to discover the source of the scent.

Y/N pulls out two mugs topped with foam, smiling like a giddy little kid. We both take a sip, and I feel the warmth filling me up as I take in the drink that tastes like Autumn in a cup. I've never had butter-beer before, but this is perfect. I look up to see whipped cream coating Y/N's upper lip, and based on the laugh she's holding back, I would guess I am sporting the same foam mustache. We both bust out in laughter. Something about spending time with Y/N makes me feel like a kid again. I know I can share my knowledge with her and she actually encourages me to do it quite often. But she also makes me feel like I can be goofy and silly and just have fun. I had almost forgotten what that feels like.

After we each curl up on our end of the couch with blankets and pillows, I can't help but realize how happy I have been having her as a friend in my life. Something about this realization pulls my mind in the opposite direction, and I suddenly find myself remembering why happiness feels like such a long forgotten stranger...Maeve. The name had not crossed my thoughts in weeks. This realization leaves me with a guilt that sits like a pit in my stomach. Before I know it, I am no longer focused on my favorite Harry Potter movie, but am spiraling into a dark hole once again. I lose myself so far into my thoughts that I almost don't notice that Y/N has stopped the movie and is staring straight at me.

I turn to her. "What is it?"

Y/N furrows her brow, a deep look of concern filling her eyes.

"Spencer, you're crying."

"I am?" I reach up to feel the wet streaks left behind on my cheek. I hadn't even realized. Now not only have I been crying in front of Y/N, but she knows something is wrong. Knowing her, she won't let this go so easily. I also doubt she'll buy any lie I try to feed her. She may not be a profiler, but she sure knows when someone she cares about isn't being genuine with her.

Luckily, she must also know me better than I realize. She doesn't push me too hard for information. She scoots over to my side of the couch before laying a hand on my shoulder. I keep my eyes glued to my lap, avoiding eye contact as best I can. I'm afraid that if I look into her eyes now, I'll completely fall apart. Something about telling your friends about your trauma makes it very real, and I don't want to relive that day, not again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not sure..." I answer honestly.

Instead of pushing me, she moves her hand to rub my back as we sit there in silence. Something about the kindness of this gesture finally breaks me. I let my head fall into my hands as tears start streaming down my face, and I don't even bother trying to stop them. I can't hold this back anymore, not from someone who's become like a best friend to me.

We sit there just like that for several minutes, Y/N silently rubbing my back, me crying like a big baby. Part of me feels embarrassed, breaking down like this, but the other part is too tired from holding all of this back to even care anymore.

Finally, I think my body has run out of tears when I hear Y/N say "What can I do? What do you need?" It's so quiet I almost miss it.

"Her name was Maeve." I am surprised to hear the words leave my mouth. I glance over to Y/N to gauge her reaction, but she's only sitting there, listening patiently.

"I started getting these headaches. They became so crippling that they started affecting my work. It scared me because...well my mom is schizophrenic. I guess I have always been a little paranoid about showing symptoms. The doctors ran tests, labs, scans...everything they could think of. As a last resort I reached out to this geneticist. After a bit of correspondence, it wasn't difficult to see that she was brilliant. She seemed to enjoy keeping in touch, so we would write one another letters. We eventually started calling one another. But...she had a stalker. She didn't know who it was or what they wanted, but she was scared. That's why we wrote letters. And I only ever called her from telephone booths, never the same one twice. I ended up sharing a large part of my life with her... One time before hanging up the phone she even said "love you" like it was the most normal thing in the world. I never said it back, but even if what I felt was love I never got the chance to say it to her. Her stalker was a former grad student, and she got to Maeve before I could."

I stop and take in a deep breath, swallowing the growing lump in my throat before continuing.

" She shot herself in front of me, killing Maeve along with her. It was the first time I had ever seen her in person too. It happened a couple months ago. Every time I think i've moved on it feels like the pain starts all over again. I sometimes feel guilty for even trying to move on, for ever being happy."

Y/N doesn't say a word as she lets me speak. She just nods, taking in every word. After a couple minutes of silence, she lets out a large breath before finally opening her mouth to speak.

"Spencer, I can't pretend to even come close to understanding what you are going through. I wish I had the answers. I wish I could tell you when the pain will go away, but the truth is it will probably never fully leave you. Trauma has a way of sticking with us. We learn how to process it and cope with it more efficiently, but it's never truly gone. Now I can't pretend to know what Maeve would have wanted for you, but as your friend who's with you now I want to tell you its okay to be happy. Its also okay to not be okay sometimes. No one has it together all of the time. It's ok to talk about it, to cry about it, and there's no right or wrong time. Trauma has a way of sneaking up on us, triggering us when we least expect it. And whatever you need to be ok, whatever you need to do in order to deal with this, I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. You can always call me if you need to talk or come over. Even if you just need a distraction from it, if you find yourself slipping into a dark place, you can call me, and we will talk about literally anything else or go find somewhere to grab dessert or watch a movie. If you need someone to just sit with you, I'll be there. What I'm trying to say is whenever you're ready, just tell me what you need and I'll be there for you."

I feel like I could cry again, but luckily I don't. Instead, I turn on the couch to face Y/N and just pull her in for a hug, resting my head on her shoulder. This alone is all I need to at least be okay, even if just for tonight. As someone who lives alone, my only real family living across the US, no one ever really knows just how much I crave touch. It's not exactly like I can just approach JJ, Garcia, or Morgan and say "Hey I could really use a hug today." It's a love language for me, but I go weeks without touching a single person. It wears me down sometimes. Sitting here, hugging Y/N, is the most comforted I have felt in a really long time.

I want to tell her the other reason I'm struggling. About the cravings I have to battle when things are already emotionally challenging. I decide I'm not ready to share that quite yet. It's not that i don't trust her, but if it's going to affect the way she sees me, I want to put that off as long as possible.

I also take a minute to go over the words she's said to me. I can't help but notice her tone, her body language, the look on her face. She may be great at comforting people, especially since it's part of her job, but those were the words of someone who knew. She spoke from a place of fully understanding trauma, which tells me one thing: She has had trauma of her own. I make a mental note to bring it up later. I don't want to push her, but I want to make sure she knows she has the same support from me incase she ever needs to talk.

We sit there for a few more minutes, her arms wrapped around me. My breathing eventually slows down as I try to get my sniffles under control. I feel my head start to pound from how hard I have been crying. I sit back to rub my hands into my temples. Y/N stands up and makes her way into the kitchen, returning a couple minutes later with a cold water bottle, a box of tissues, and some aspirin.

She starts to walk out of the room before turning to me.

"I think I've got something that might help you feel a little better. It can't heal with heartbreak, but maybe it can help you to relax and take your mind off everything, if even for a little while."

"Y/N, you take care of people all day at work you don't have to..,"

"Hey!" She cuts me off before I can finish. "Why do you think I became a nurse huh? I enjoy taking care of people. And if I can help, even just a little, I won't feel so completely useless in this situation."

"Y/N, you've already helped. Just listening, being here with me. But I guess its no use arguing with you, you're too stubborn." A small breathy laugh leaves my nose and I glance up to see a small smile before she steps out of the room.

She returns a few minutes later and doesn't say a word. Instead she grabs both my hands and pulls me off the couch, leading me into the guest bathroom.

A take a look around at everything she had gotten ready.

"A bubble bath?" I shoot her a look of uncertainty.

"Just trust me okay." She rolls her eyes playfully. "I'll be in the living room. Just shout if you need me okay?"

I decide to just go with it. She leaves, shutting the door behind her and flipping of the lights. The room is suddenly glowing in light from candles scattered all around the bathroom. After slipping into the bath, I tense up at how hot the water is before it finally relaxes all my muscles. Breathing in, I notice the smell of eucalyptus and lavender filling the air. There is also a bluetooth speaker in the corner, softly playing zen spa music with the trickle of a rain in the background.

I have to admit, this is the most relaxed I have felt in...well I can't remember ever feeling this relaxed. Baths always seemed a bit girly, but this was incredibly therapeutic. I may have to try this again after my next difficult case.

When I finally decide to get out, I realize I'll have to change back into the same clothes. I quickly realize Y/N had also laid out a  star wars t shirt and black sweatpants for me. She thought of everything. With her being on the taller side and enjoying baggy clothes, they actually fit me fairly well.

When I finally step back into the living room she looks up at me and grins.

"Looking good Dr. Reid!"

She never calls me that, and for some reason it makes me blush just slightly. She pats the spot next to her on the couch, signaling for me to come over.

"Well, how do you feel?"

"Umm I wasn't sure about the whole bath thing but... I feel fantastic actually! How did you know that would help?"

"When you do what I do, you have to find multiple ways to unwind" she laughs.

I glance down at the shirt I'm wearing.

"So Star Wars huh?"

Y/N smirks "Are you really that surprised?"

I answer with a laugh "No I suppose not."

"Well I hope you like them too, because that's what I had lined up when it was my turn to pick for movie night!"

I can't help but hide a giant grin. I was happy to hear she wanted to continue our movie nights. Between all the Harry Potter movies and Star Wars movies combined, it seemed like we'd be spending a lot more time together.

"Is it okay if we finish the movie?" I am hoping I didn't completely ruin the night with my breakdown.

"I thought you'd never ask" she smiles before turning to the TV and resuming the movie.

As I watch the characters making their way into the shrieking shack, I feel my eyes grow heavy. I guess I had gotten a little too relaxed, as I am now struggling to stay awake through the rest of the movie.

When I open my eyes I notice the room is no longer glowing from the light of the TV but from the daylight streaming in through the windows. I realize i'm stretched across Y'N's couch, under one of her many fuzzy blankets. I sit up and look around, noticing Y/N is no longer there. After checking her kitchen and bedroom, I start to worry. Before I start to call her on the phone, I notice movement outside the window. I make my way onto the patio balcony to see her sitting on her bench with a book in her hands. At the sound of the door, she looks up and meets my gaze, smiling as she closes her book.

"Good morning sunshine" she says laughing just a bit.

"What happened?" I ask, joining her on the bench outside, running my hands through my hair as I attempt to fully wake up.

"Well, after awhile I noticed you fell asleep. I really thought it would be best to just let you get your rest."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..." I start before she cuts me off.

"Its no problem! Not last night and not any other time. You are always welcome here." She gives me a warm, genuine smile. I know this is a sincere offer, one I'm sure I will take her up on again.

[artsymew]

It’s raining somewhere else

It’s been a hot minute. Finally wrote the last installment for my Contestshipping fanfic “Race You to the City”. You can read it on FanFiction here or under the cut! Takes place in Castelia’s Cafe Sonata. Enjoy ^^

Context: May and Drew engage in small talk in "Café Sonata" seeking cover from the rain. Snippets of small talk. Their coffees keep going cold. Bragging rights. The rainy weather has them moody.

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"It's starting to rain."

The lights are dim in the little Café Sonata. The sudden downpour keeps them cooped up in Castelia's hidden alleyway café. The rain splatters on the concrete outside their window seats, earning Drew's comment. May grasps the now lukewarm caramel latte with both hands. Lost in thought.

"Ah!" May glances through the blinds of the window they are sitting besides, responding to Drew's comment, "looks like it is". She smiles slightly before turning her attention to the swirling foam again.

He wasn't expecting her to reply, yet he finds it odd that she hasn't started a conversation. Small talk is her thing. He watches her gaze trace the swirling bits of foam of what once was the latte art in her cup. He likes how the lighting in the café reflects on her face. A golden glow. Drew stares down at the steam coming from his own coffee; a usual dark roast – French press.

He likes the comfortable silences they share from time to time, yet this one seems too comforting. Disquieting, even. Any other time he'd admire the faraway look in her eyes; how she daydreams despite pocking fun at her for it. It's one of the things he loves about her. But the look she wears now seems too distant.

As if she is somewhere else.

"How is Max feeling about the upcoming League battles?"

He knows she is somewhere else; in her mind anyway. Hoenn. Judging from the phone conversation she had with Max last night, their home region is likely on her mind. Her brother giddily called exclaiming how he had finally won his 8th Gym Badge against Juan, a former coordinator and someone she and Ash had battled a few years ago. He planned to head home for a while before competing in the upcoming Hoenn League.

"He's really excited, following in Ash's footsteps and all", her tone comes off a bit deflated. She looks out the window, pensive. "I wish I could be there to celebrate with him."

"He misses you, you know."

She smiles half-heartedly, traces of guilt lingering as her eyes avert to the swirling foam again.

It had surprised Drew to hear that May hadn't visited her family in a while. Max playfully chastised during their call how he'll become League Champion twice fold by the next time she visits. Drew noted how May gripped her sleeve when she laughed him off.

He didn't pry for her reasonings about not visiting; he barely remembering the last time in a few years he visited his own family and had his own reasonings for that. He suspects hers have to do with the non-stop training and desperation. Desperation for a damn Ribbon Cup.

He doesn't see the glory of it anymore. He guesses it's the allure. The excitement waned quickly for him once he decided on his next contest route. Of course, it's easy for him to say now that he's attained the title of Top Coordinator and has a Ribbon Cup himself. But continuing to train and compete with his Pokemon is what drives him to get stronger, to get better. That and to compete against his rival. His rival who made that allure of winning worth it.

He figures May will come to understand that once she wins, too.

Once she gets out of this cloud of self doubt, that is.

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"Oran or Pecha?" May turns to Drew at his random question, looking at him inquisitively before he continues, "which do you prefer?"

May puts a finger to her lips and hums, pondering before deciding, "Pecha".

"Excuse me," Drew walked up to the café counter at May's surprise, pointing the barista to one of the Pecha pastries in the glass display, "this one please; with added whipped cream."

He sees May's suspicious look when he sits back down with a delicious Pecha Berry shortcake – with the added whipped cream. The rain outside continues to drawl, but some light returns to her eyes. The embers of the fireplace flicker in them. Drew smiles.

Prompting conversation has its ways.

"Felt like trying one of their pastries out," he shrugs off simply, gesturing at the two small forks on the plate "want some?"

May takes his offer with a quick thank you. "Didn't know you had a sweet tooth, Mr. Bitter Coffee", she playfully jabs while taking a bite off the cake. Her teasing lacks her usual spunk.

"Not usually, but you didn't drink your liquid sugar in one gulp today either," Drew's smirks when her eyebrow twitches, "leave some of it for me to try, will you?"

Bait.

May literally bites, her blissful expression from those first few chews turns incredulous. "You know I won't eat all of it!" she digs out another piece of the pastry, taking some of the whipped cream Drew so graciously asked for with good measure. "At least I don't take Slakoth sips from dirt-flavour coffee."

"It's an acquired taste from the sleepless nights of being a Top Coordinator" Drew takes a bite off the pastry and chuckles at her irritated chewing. To Sonata Café's credit the pastry is quite good. A bit too sweet for his own liking, though. He planned letting May have most of it anyway.

"Yeah, yeah, bragging rights" May sighs, unresentful. Their battle together last year had been breathtaking and incredibly difficult; Drew would not have wanted to win his title any other way. "Don't bragging rights expire at some point?"

"Until you win," Drew sips his coffee. He cocks a brow hearing her sigh, but decides not to push further at the moment. He goes to ask for another coffee.

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"I'll have to deal with Max bragging about his own championship title soon," May comments after a while, looking up from her notes. Another coffee in hand, this time a mocha. Drew perks at the hint of discomfort in her voice.

Ah.

"Not sure he'll win at all, though," Drew states bluntly, closing his book. The rain shutters against the pavement outside. Her reflection turns to watch him. "How many times has Ash – an experienced trainer - challenged the Pokémon League and won?"

It is a risk to critique Ash or Max in a conversation, let alone use Ash as an example of training criticism. But Drew is not one to use sweet flattery when someone is feeling down.

"But Ash continues to work hard for his dream!" she exclaims defensively, a bit miffed at her rival. The barista looks over to them, cleaning a cup. "He hasn't let his losses stop him from getting stronger."

"He still hasn't won a League," he states calmly, turning to face his now irritated companion across his table, "winning the Orange League or the Battle Towers does not count." Proceed with caution. "In short, no different from your current position."

She stabs her tiny fork at the Pecha berry. Surprisingly, the shortcake is only half gone. "Yes Drew! I know I haven't obtained the title of top coordinator yet", she munches and closes her notes. He worries about the little notebook and whether it would damage anything in the cafe if thrown. "but Max is a talented trainer; he can do it. He beat the gym leaders in Hoenn under a year. That's much faster than Ash."

"Yet he has yet to beat you in a Pokémon battle," Drew retorts.

"Why are you being so cynical?" May infuriated gaze aimed towards him, dismissing his backhanded compliment. 'A small price to pay', he thinks.

"Realistic, May" he brings his coffee to his lips, looking sternly at his rival. He's starting to feel irritated himself. The weather is affecting them both. "Max and Ash are good trainers, yes, but they've done nothing you haven't. I know because I battle the result of it."

He watches as her mouth parts agape, before she looks downward, frowning. "But I still haven't-"

"-Arceus, May," he interrupts as May's gaze widens. "Winning that damn title wouldn't have been worth it if I hadn't battled against you. You made it worth it." He looks into her eyes, unfaltering. "You're strong. Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Drew goes to take an exasperated sip of his coffee only to realize he finished it. He presses a palm to his head and averts his gaze to the window again. Rain continues to fall even harder, shaking the Café's hanging sign almost off it's rails. The taste of bitter coffee grounds remains in his mouth. May's lips trembles in what he catches with a sideways glance. Is she about to cry? Mew.

He hadn't meant to spill his heart out like that at all. He picks up where he left off in the chapter, but can't concentrate. It's down-pouring outside. He lost his cool. They're both upset and the silence is now shredded and awkward. Great.

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All the sudden May bursts out laughing.

Tears fall from her eyes as she cackles. She has a hearty laugh that fills the room and opens up space to breathe. She wails even more when she sees his dumbfounded expression. What in the Arceus-

"Oh, Drew," she breathes while pushing away the tears from her eyes "look at us- what am I even saying? Needing you scold me like some kid, oh Mew," she exasperates through giggles and Drew can only stare at her, wide-eyed. She looks at the shortcake and laughs even harder.

"Oh no, don't tell me - you bought this freaking cake to cheer me up, didn't you?" she accuses, letting out a snort at his guilty blush. "You know me too well, Arceus-"

May's outburst of laughter is contagious, he can't help but start laughing too. What the hell. Cold coffee, half eaten cake. The bartender looking at them like a pair of lunatics. The café setting like some cheap soap opera. Bickering like children. Never being able to admit their obvious feelings. The entire situation is ridiculous.

Drew has never felt so smitten yet so lost before in his life.

They are still kids, aren't they?

He presses his hand to his face to cover his own snort. May laughs even harder, eyes twinkling. Drew finds the rain drops on the window suddenly appear interesting.

"Would you look at that!" May begins sarcastically, spunk restored. "'Top Coordinator Drew snorts when he laughs!' Where is the press?"

"Great story idea, would drive my fans wild. Empty shelves for sure."

"Here I was about to compliment your nice laugh" she flicks a Pecha berry at him, that he catches easily. She sighs contended, "You're so full of it. Guess we should finish eating your pity cake."

"Why, thank you, I've heard my laugh is quite charming," he ignores her jab, flicking his hair on purpose. She rolls her eyes at him but doesn't bothering to hide her grin. "And like I said May, I had a genuine urge to try it."

"Sure you did."

They both take up another piece, savouring the flavour. It tastes sweeter, somehow. A new comfortable silence ensues.

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"We never had this much rain in Hoenn, did we?" May asks after a while, glancing over to him.

"Probably," Drew watches how alleyway lights flicker in the puddles, "it's been a while since I've been."

He watches May look beyond the rainy view outside, a renewed focus. "I should visit them soon."

"You should," he agrees, "there should be enough time after the next contest. If you want to visit, I mean."

May hums in agreement, "that would be nice," she stares at Drew through the window, the rain fall lighter on the ground. "You're welcome anytime, you know?"

"Your dad wants to murder me with his Slaking whenever I visit," Drew deadpans, elicting another laugh from May. He doesn't give away how touched he feels and how smitten he gets whenever he makes May laugh with his comments.

A bit more time passes, both coordinators bask in silence as the downpour continues to fall. Occasional commentary. Eventually, he stands to order another coffee. Might as well wait out the rain.

She reaches over to grasp his hand on the table, squeezing it. Drew's heart jumps to his throat, he looks down to her. The smile reaches her eyes again. "Thank you, Drew."

Drew lets himself smile.

"Anytime, May."

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A/N: After a year, I think this is a good place to finish this fic. I felt a casual conversation at a coffee shop would suffice. I knew I wanted to write them in Café Sonata for a long time, but I wasn't sure what to do with the scenario. Going for a coffee at my local café during a rainy day inspired me. Thank you so much for your patience with this story. 😊

[geminiamethyst]

Dragon Seekers. Chapter 8

Chapter 1: click HERE Chpater 7: click HERE

Chapter 9: click HERE

“What are you doing in here?” Carl asked accusingly. Jamie stumbled back a little as the man stepped towards him. He couldn’t bring himself to answer. His mind was panicking so much that he couldn’t make up an excuse. It was impossible to calm down. As he started stuttering, Carl seemed to become more enraged. His eyes suddenly landed on the dragon statue.

“What’s that? You stealing from me or something?” He demanded, getting closer to Jamie. The boy concealed his treasure behind his back, feebly trying to protect it. “Give it to me! It’s mine!”

“NO!” Jamie suddenly yelled, authority in his voice. His voice echoed throughout the house. Jamie was just as surprised as Carl, the man’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets. Despite his shock, Jamie couldn’t stop himself from continuing to yell. “You don’t belong here! You never did! Nothing in this house belongs to you! Mum and are aren’t your slaves! I bet those dog tags are fakes! So why don’t you just leave?!” The house was dead quiet when Jamie finished his rant. He felt like the world had finally been lifted off of his shoulders. This was the first time that he thought back against his abuser. This was the first time that he felt powerful for once. For the first time, he felt free.

That moment was short lived. It was like a freight train had hit Jamie. Carl had body slammed him, sending him into the wall. He banged his head into the wall so hard that he was questioning why he hadn’t blacked out.

“How dare you...” Carl sneered, foaming at the mouth. He held Jamie high in the air by the collar of his shirt. “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY?! I am the man of the house! This is my base! Things are run my way as I see fit! You’re just a waste on the Earth! I wish you had never been born!”

“This coming from a coward! I’m not the one who’s scared of you! You’re scared of us!” Jamie argued, once again feeling powerful. He didn’t know where this newfound courage came from, but he’ll use it to his full advantage. Carl looked shocked again, but only for a moment. He pulled Jamie in and immediately slammed him into the wall again. There was a slight ringing in Jamie’s ears as his head harshly collided with the wall. All of his sudden bravery had abandoned him. Almost all of his body had gone limp. Only his hand where he guarded his treasure seemed to respond to his brain to keep holding on.

“Who do you think you are?! DO I LOOK SCARED TO YOU?! DO I?!” Carl roared, his voice shaking the house. Jamie couldn’t respond to that. He had no time to. Before he would have any, Jasmine suddenly charged towards Carl. The boy had never seen her look enraged before. Her braid trailed behind her as she suddenly leapt on the drunk’s back. The shock of the sudden attack was enough to make Carl drop Jamie. The boy crashed to the ground in surprise, becoming thing more than a heap on the floor. Dazed, he watched as the struggle continued. Carl thrashed as much as he could to shake Jasmine off of his back. Jasmine kept her arms and legs wrapped around him like an octopus, never relenting in her hold of him. Even her hair seemed to attack Carl, as it went back and forth like a whip.

“Run Jamie! Get as far into the woods as you can!” Jasmine shouted, her voice overpowering Carl’s demands to get off of him.

“Mum?” Jamie whimpered. He didn’t want to run. He couldn’t just leave her behind.

“I’ll be right behind you! I promise!” Jasmine yelled not sounding out of breath. Her voice had a lot of authority in it, something Jamie had never heard from her before. It shocked him so much that his body was suddenly no longer his own. He couldn’t rememberer running out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He doesn’t remember putting on his trainers. He doesn’t remember the fight fading out from his ears. He doesn’t even remember running out of the house.

By time Jamie felt like he had full control of his body again, he was deep in the woods. Deeper than he thought he had ever been in. It felt like unfamiliar ground to him. He felt unnerved by it. It was almost like he was on another planet at this revelation. Jamie looked around in a panic. Not because he was lost, but because Jasmine wasn’t here. His chest felt incredibly tight at this. He struggled to breathe as he felt like his head was reeling as he strained his ears to listen out for her voice or her footfalls coming towards him. He didn’t hear Carl’s thunderous voice or heaving spring either. He was completely alone. The woods suddenly felt like an alien planet to him. It was no longer is safe space. It was terribly haunting to think that.

Jamie felt like an uneasy feeling crawl through his skin. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had this feeling. A feeling that urged him to keep going. He didn’t know if it was to take him further away or back home, but he felt like he could trust it. Exhausted, thirsty and weak at the knees, Jamie pushed himself to keep walking forward. It was almost like he was being pulled by an invisible string. He found himself walking towards a tree. The tree seemed old, like the oak trees that he had loved so much. It was curved in an arch shape and the top of the tree seemed to disappear into the earth. It was certainly a strange sight.

Jamie couldn’t stop looking at the arch. It was quite magical to him. Maybe he can make this his new safe space. It felt right for it to be. Jamie pondered why it felt like that when he noticed a change in the air. The sun had gone, hidden by a cloak of dark clouds. Jamie couldn’t suppress a shudder. Please don’t let this be another thunder storm. As Jamie repeated that silent plea in his head, a harsh wind swept from behind him, almost pulling him into the arch.

Something vibrated harshly in his hand. Jamie looked down in surprise at the dragon statue that he held. In his panic, he actually forgot that he still had it. The wind became stronger, almost sweeping Jamie off of his feet. Suddenly, this place didn’t feel safe anymore. Jamie tried to run away, but the wind was stronger.

“H-help! HELP!” the boy cried out, terrified about the situation. No one heard him. Who would? The wind suddenly knocked Jamie off of his feet. It made him feel weightless as he was thrown effortlessly towards the arch. He landed with a hard thud. He hit his head so hard that he passed out from the shock. Just a split second before he passed out, he thought that he heard Jasmine’s voice:

“Stay safe, Jamie,”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Deeper Water

[Tour]

Word count: 2696

Kinda late birthday gift for @the10amongstthese3s

Gosh diddly darn where do I start-- you are one of the most wholesome people in this community okAy? You’re such a saint ya know?! I swear, you’re probably the first of many to genuinely cheer me on with my writing and listen to all my ideas. If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. I remember when you first messaged me (or maybe I messaged you? i can’t even remember- we talk every day now!) and how happy I was to be noticed by someone so big and amazing in the fandom. I just felt so honored and lucky. And I sure am right about being lucky. Hell, Duckie you probably don’t notice this but your content and just you in general has helped me through quite a lot of shit. I absolutely love how you constantly try to help others out, put a smile on their faces and watch them grow. Your personality is GOLD. You have made me motivated and inspired me in so many ways, helping me with writers block, stupid anon hate, and my self-esteem in general. You’re such a respectful person and I just want to say over and over again until the end of time: Thank you… I thank you for reaching your hand out to me and my writing and helping me grow, even when I’m being stubborn and childish. Thank you for everything.  I wanted to give you something in return as well. I’m sorry it probably doesn’t seem like much but here you are, you wonderful, amazing, talented person!! Take this as a gift of my gratitude and how you changed my life through everything!

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

  “Teach me how to swim.” Joan grits out from between her teeth. Her icy grey-blue eyes are sparkly with tears, shoulders shaking, hands wrapped tight around the straps of the backpack she insists on using for work for some reason. The nails on both hands have been chewed down to almost the stinging quick. Aragon pauses, swallowing the last swig of her cherry powerade as she considers the girl: She’s trembling, lower lip wobbling, and her knees are nearly knocking together. Aragon wants to fish out a bandage from her pocket that she knows she doesn’t have to wrap up around her nails.

Joan is scared. But why?

It’s a question that even Aragon asks herself. Why was she afraid of water? Why was she so hesitant to swim? Why didn’t she know how to yet?

What happened?

Did she watch a loved one drown? Was her home destroyed by a flood or hurricane? Was she ever dunked underwater again and again and again and again until she couldn’t breathe anymore?

Anxiety surges like the ocean surf and riptides that pull Joan down beneath the surface, closing over like a lattice net of hands in children’s games, forcing her under. Anxiety, fear, terror--and for what? Over what? A liquid? A liquid she should have no reason to be afraid of? She was never traumatized by water, not that she can remember, so why?

  “Okay,” Aragon says with a shrug, and it’s as easy as that.

Joan swallows her shock at the agreement and the tears thick at the back of her throat, and nodded. She smiles thinly, wryly, shakily, and whispers, “Thank you.”

Then, she’s gone, whirling around in a flash of white-blonde hair and waddling off like an ungraceful arctic fox to her dressing room. Aragon doesn’t watch her go. No need. She turns, too, and throws her bottle away in the nearby trash can. Nearby, masters of eavesdropping Anne and Jane stare at her in dumbstruck shock, and Aragon isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or punch them at their stupid expressions.

  “What?” She snaps at them.

They say nothing, too intimidated by her bright, flashing eyes. Aragon snorts and then goes on her way.

She doesn’t speak to Joan until the end of that show day, after two performances, and by then they’re both exhausted. Aragon hides it as she always does, but Joan is slouched in a position that’ll make her back hurt later, rubbing the goosebumps on her forearms like she was cold, despite it being a rather warm early spring day. Her eyes are vacant and far away.

(why? why? why?)

Aragon throws an arm over her shoulders in a friendly way, as if they have known each other for centuries, and she can feel the trembles wracking Joan’s frame. The girl vibrates against her and rattles her rib cage to a rhythm conducted by aquaphobic horror.

  “Let’s do this!” Aragon says, and the words ring oddly hollow in her mouth. Her chest aches in a way that reminds her of when Mary was taken away from her when Joan smiles up at her- tremulous, but trusting, and Aragon thinks that this is the first time she’s been told such a thing, been included in something, been the center of someone’s attention.

And it terrifies Joan.

(why why why oh why why why--)

But Joan sucks it up- Aragon can see her swallow in a thick way that makes her own throat hurt. She smiles again, this time more for herself and says, “Yeah”, but it doesn’t come out right. It’s a squeak, a mewl, a bleat, a pathetic excuse for a reply because her terror has her by the neck with yellowed fangs dug in and she can’t even answer correctly. Aragon glances down at her, eyebrows twitching together, then nods.

There’s no going back. There’s only the here and now- only the salt spray that bludgeons even her dulled sense of smell, mouth dry and tasteless still from hours of singing, that Joan hides her face from by burrowing against Aragon like-

-like a small animal, a baby kitten maybe, one Aragon had plucked off of the streets back before marriage in her past life, nursed back to health with dribbles of milk and lovingly smashed up food, and learned to love again through loving something else. After Henry and Mary, her heart felt like ground beef, or pulpy chuck, maybe- all mashed up and masticated, run through the grinder twice over. It’s still sore, still tender, but it’s been healing. They’ve all been healing.

Was Joan?

(wet too wet too cold why why why--)

And as if on stage cue, her chest twinges, the stab smothered in a rough clear of her throat, and Joan sniffles. Aragon can’t tell if she’s crying. 

They take Aragon’s car. The drive is silent, aside from Joan’s sniffles and gasps and mewls of distress. She spent it rocking back and forth in the passenger seat, looking very anxious and very regretful and very, very ill. But she doesn’t tell Aragon to turn around or stop, even when she had looked like she was going to vomit at one point. Her nose squirted out blood shortly after that, the stress too much for her poor little body, and Aragon wordlessly gave her a napkin with a pitiful frown.

The surface of the lake churns, roiling over with wavelets and riptides. Little dimples and indents are left behind by the rain, like the pattering of unseen children, jumping in puddles with bright red boots and yellow rain slickers. Aragon parks in the grass and she and Joan sluice through evergrowing puddles and mud to get to the shore. They stop. A runner of blood hangs pendulously from one of Joan’s left nostril and she swipes it away swiftly. 

Joan dry swallows. Her eyebrows furrow, knitting together, as she tries to figure out what to do next- paralyzed by indecision by the sandy shores of the water, little wavelets lapping at them, ratty sneakers she bought from a thrift shop squashing down temporary imprints into the wet earth. Aragon thinks that she looks a hell of a lot like an indignant kitten, when she’s got the tip of her tongue barely poking out from between her clenched teeth and face all scrunched up in something close to the cousin of a scowl like that.

  “Gotta screw your courage to the stickin’ place, right?” She asks, trying to break the tension, and to her relief, it does. Joan nods, a sharp little jerky motion, and then kicks off her sneakers and wrangles off her socks with her toes. They’re bright pink with yellow elephants, and the water almost carries them away. Aragon bends down quickly, grabs them by the cuffs and flicks them over her shoulder, back in the vague direction of where their jackets and phones sit, bundled safely away from the surf. Joan startles a little at that, but when Aragon takes off her own shoes and throws them, she does the same, tossing her sneakers casually backwards. That tears a smile from her.

  “Let’s do this,” Joan says, and even if her voice catches in her throat a little when a clump of seaweed is washed up onto the shore like a snarl of a corpse’s hair, she steels herself again. Aragon feels that same twinge in her chest, she thinks it might be right under her sternum- as she mirrors her word choice, and they come as naturally to her as if they were her own. Her shoulders are squared, and for a moment, as the wind whips white-blonde tendrils of her hair into her face Aragon thinks that she can see a girl who could lead herself out of the maw of hell through sheer will and grit alone.

But then thunder grumbles overhead and the lake roils in response, and another line of blood drips down Joan’s face. She lets it fall.

It’s a terrible day to go swimming. At the same time, with the skies overcast gray and sprinkling down, little tepid spatters of rain rather than a steady drizzle, it doesn’t feel like swimming. It’s a far cry from the gorgeous azure summer day that most people would take a dip in, and Aragon wonders if that’s why Joan chose such a day in the first place. Maybe learning how to swim in a tempest would prove something to someone.

(who to who who would be proud who would cheer who who WHY)

Blood splatters against the wet sand and blooms into a glorious red flower. Its petals whorl outwards, swirling and flapping into magnificent crimson waves that dissolve into the ebb and flow of the tide. Plop, plop, plop. Flowers bloom and wilt with every hungry roll of water against the shore until Joan finally wipes the stream away and whispers, “I’m ready now.”

She isn’t, Aragon knows she isn’t because she’s sweating buckets and her eyes are shiny and have more white in them than grey-blue and she looks like she’s about to foam at the mouth like a hog in a slaughtering pen, but she nods anyway.

  “Alright.”

Aragon walks forwards, blindly into the water, and her hands carefully hold Joan’s, leading her deeper. Just until the water settles a little over their hips. She keeps her voice soft and warm and oh so gentle.

  “You okay?”

Joan nods, opens her eyes, which Aragon hadn’t realized she’d had squeezed shut, and utters something that sounds like the noise a lamb with its throat cut would make. Sweat runs down her temple. The water ripples with her body’s violent tremors of terror. She tried again: “Yeah. I’m good.” 

Aragon gives her the time to readjust, her eyes roving over the surface of the water like quicksilver, between the lightning and the gloomily dark bottom of rounded out pebbles and slabs of slate. It’s a little uncomfortable to be standing on them barefoot, the edges of the rocks and the corners of the bigger chunks digging into the soles of their feet, and Joan ends up standing up on her tippy toe to try to alleviate it. Aragon can’t help but be endeared by how even when she’s trying to be tall, Joan is still shorter than she is. When Joan turns back up to look at her, she knows that they’re ready to continue onwards.

Aragon holds Joan up at first. Aragon has never taught anyone how to swim before, so she’s not sure what to do. Joan’s sort of sprawled out on her stomach, splashing messily, cutting jags through the water’s surface. She punches and kicks like a drunk boxer, movements choppy. Aragon’s hands hover underneath her flat stomach (so thin so thin-- “Don’t you ever eat?”) as she follows her awkward crawl forwards, ready to--push her upwards, maybe? 

Joan’s hair’s getting her in the eyes. Locks of white-blonde are like thorny vines pricking against her corneas. Given their height difference, the water isn’t so deep on Aragon, so she reaches over slowly. 

  “Hang on, Joan-” 

Thunder.

Lightning.

Fission. 

The whites of Joan’s eyes are stark. She spasms in an awful way. She whips her head over to stare, floundering, and after a little awkward moving and rearranging of limbs and splashing of lake water, she's a koala bear clinging to Aragon. Her legs are cinched around her waist, arms thrown over her shoulders, and Aragon’s sort of hunched over because she’s supporting both of their weight and Joan hadn’t thought to bring along a swimming suit, so there’s the issue of her t-shirt and shorts billowing out like some Regency era dress and weighing her down too. She’s this close to choking her out with the strength of her grip.

  “Shh, shh,” Aragon rocks Joan back and forth in patient, soothing motions. “I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Joan pants and breathes harshly against the crook of her neck. Her nails have hooked into claws on Aragon’s back, but if it hurts, Aragon doesn’t say anything.

  “Your hair,” Aragon explains, voice so soft even after being climbed up like she was a ladder. She moves to take the black hair tie off of her wrist. “It’s in your eyes.” 

Joan doesn’t say anything, only looks at her expectantly, the uh, I knew that, dumbass clearly writ across her face. But with blood rimming her nostrils and her eyes blank with horror and lips chewed to shreds, her gaze was anything but insulting.

  “Let me fix it.” Aragon says, and she’s smoothing back Joan’s hair and tying it up into a little ponytail, and then swirling that around to cobble a messy bun. It’s not the greatest looking hairdo in the world, but Joan seems to appreciate it. Aragon tucks the loose strands of it behind her ears clumsily, fingers a little numb with the cold.

  “You’re all good to go, darling,” Aragon says, and Joan nods. 

The moment’s broken, and they go back to kicking and paddling around. More than once Joan splashes water up her nose and Aragon snarks about brain eating amoebas in warm waters. Zombified. Sticks her arms out and everything, tottering this way and that. Aragon doesn’t roll her eyes and they both are grateful for it.

Joan rolls her eyes in response to her own antics, smacks the top of the water again, and it somehow dissolves, momentarily, into a water fight: sweeping arms and frantic giggling. She’s so caught up in trying to drench Aragon in the bone-chilling water that she’s lost her fear of treading water on her own. Aragon points it out, cheering, one fist punched upwards as if to punctuate the air at it.

The day stretches on. It isn’t perfect, but Joan is eventually passably confident with a front crawl. She’d insisted, because the little print outs crumpled in the bottom of her bag from the internet proclaimed it the fastest. Aragon doesn’t push her on her rationale behind choosing it, only helps her get to the point where she can kick her way over to her across the length of a pool. Eventually, she’s exhausted herself, and she lets Aragon drag her back most of the way without snarking.

Aragon remembers the last time that she held her like this: Joan falling into an uneasy sleep on her chest after a nightmare knocked the wind out of her-- literally. She had wrenched upwards out of her slumped position over her desk, leaned treacherously to the left in her chair, and slammed down hard, hard enough that days after they’d found that she’d cracked a rib on the floor.

By the time that the sun is setting, dying red embers bleeding across the sky in long trails, they’re both chilled to the marrow of their bones. They slog through the last few feet of water, resistance heavier than it seemed earlier on, thoroughly wet. Water runs down in streams from Joan’s outfit, and she snorts when Aragon throws her shoes at her when she’s raced across the sand to grab her own. She hobbles after weakly and Aragon stops messing around when she sees her pallor. She jogs over and wraps a soggy arm around Joan’s shuddering frame.

  “Joan?” She says. She lifts Joan’s chin with a finger and can’t tell if that’s lake water or tears rolling down her cheeks. “Joan? Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”

Joan shakes her head and bumps it lightly against Aragon’s shoulder. Her eyes flutter shut and she breathes out softly.

  “Thank you,” She whispers. A line of blood creeps slowly from her nose. “For this.”

  “Did someone ever drown?” Aragon then asks suddenly. “In your past life?”

Joan actually laughs. She sluggishly swipes away the stream of blood. 

  “No,” She answers. “No one except me. In my own sorrow.”

Another laugh. Aragon pulls her into a tight hug and kisses the top of her head. Joan hugs back, with nails hooked into needy, grasping claws.

  “It’s okay,” Aragon tells her. “I promise. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

  “Now it is,” Joan agrees softly. “Thank you.” She nuzzles her wet head against Aragon’s chest. “Catalina?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you teach me how to go underwater next?”

[doctordiscord123]

Two Broken Men

The Host and Eric spend some time together in the aftermath.

I’M SORRY I AM FLOODING YOU GUYS WITH MAD HOST

Part 1 | Part 2

Inspired by @thomothysdoodles drawing here

Tags: @demon-dark-666 @devon-rever-860 @smash-ash26 @bender-of-life @verse2wo @vociferous-chaos  If you want to be added to the list, just let me know!

 Warnings: Blood, Implied Abusive Relationship  Characters: The Host, Eric Derekson  Pairings: Implied Dr. Iplier/The Host, Implied Eric/The Actor  Word Count: 916 words

The Host fiddled with his hands nervously as he paced his room, twisting his wedding band on his finger. His hair hung in his face, strands sticking to his skin with blood and ink. His power was going rogue again, he could feel the outburst of magic, strange things happening wherever the rippling air passed. He paid no mind as his desk chair began floating a good foot off the ground, and one of the potted plants he kept grew a mouth and a tongue, snapping at the air.

On his bed lay a poem. He’d tried, words didn’t come as easily to him these days, but he’d tried. Only a few stanzas long, it wasn’t the most eloquent thing he’d ever written, but...hopefully Dr. Iplier would like it. He’d worked hard after all. Dr. Iplier liked poems, right? The Host was sure of it.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, and the Host flinched wildly, abruptly standing rigid and still, arms pressed tight to his sides as his head whipped to the door. He relaxed significantly when Eric entered, grinning broadly, ink and blood staining his teeth black and red. “Eric! Hello!” He tilted his head sharply. “Why are you in the Host’s room?”

Eric flinched and shrunk at the call of his name, but he closed the door, wringing his own hands obsessively, till his wrists cracked audibly. He didn’t stop. “Um, w-w-well, y-you’re kind of making the-the-the hallway...b-bleed?”

The Host laughed, he fucking cackled, until blood was dripping heavily onto the floor, the heels of his hands were pressed hard into his bandages, and black was leaking between his fingers. “I don’t know what to do! The Host loves Dr. Iplier, but -- I can’t write, the Host has never known how to write! Why did he even try...”

He sobbed brokenly, shaking where he stood, nails digging into the flesh around his bandages. Eric’s eyes shot wide. “W-wait, Host -- it’s okay! I’m sure you’re a great writer!” 

In a way, Eric was just as broken as he was. The Actor hadn’t been kind to him. He’d been conditioned and beat into submission until his entire world had been the Actor. When Dr. Iplier and Wilford had rescued them, Eric hadn’t even remembered who the other egos were. Just knew they were the Actor’s playthings that he took care of sometimes. The light in his eyes had gone out not too long after the Host’s sanity fled. He didn’t remember a Host before the broken man that bled before him.

Eric pulled the chair down from it’s floating position, and he patted the seat. “Sit down?” The Host obeyed, back to twisting his wedding band as Eric headed into the bathroom attached to the Host’s room. Even with his weight, the chair sill floated.

Eric came back with a brush and a comb, and stood behind the Host. His hair was bloody, and inky, and matted, and it wasn’t clear when the last time he’d washed it, but Eric didn’t seem to mind as he began to comb it, getting the knots and kinks out. Likewise, the Host didn’t seem to care about the pain in his scalp. And after a while, the Host’s relaxed a bit, shifting his shoulders like he’d grown a habit of doing.

“Wh-what did you write him?” 

Eric’s voice was soft, but the Host still flinched. Though a smile graced his lips. “A poem.” His smile fell, ink beginning to dribble from his mouth. He was back to twisting his ring. “Does Eric think that Dr. Iplier is gonna like it? I’ve worked on it very hard.”

Eric smiled, happily combing the Host’s hair. “I’m sure your mas– he’s gonna love it.”

The Host hummed softly, distantly aware of the slip. No matter how hard the egos worked to counteract what the Actor had done to him, Eric had still yet to grasp that the incredibly abusive, manipulative, forced relationship was everything but loving and kind. It was his only reference for a relationship, with his memory blown to Hell. 

The Host let Eric finish coming his hair, but he eventually grew restless, and fidgety. The second Eric was done, he bolted to his feet, fiddling with his coat. The grease that coated his hair almost acted like the gel he used to use to slick it back, and if one ignored how long it was, he...almost looked like the old Host. He smiled at Eric, holding his arms out a little. “How do I look?”

As he spoke, ink splattered onto his coat from where it dripped down his chin. The entire front was a very, very bloody mess. It was smeared with ink, stained with things besides blood and ink, and general just dirty -- clearly having not been washed in a while as well. But Eric gave him the thumbs up, smiling right back. 

Eric was so fond of the color red nowadays...

The Host grinned, ink foaming more heavily out of both sides of his mouth now. “The Host thanks Eric very much! Now I have to go find Dr. Iplier -- he’s probably in the garden. He likes to garden -- no, he likes to bake, kitchen maybe? No that’s not right either...maybe the library. That’s right, Dr. Iplier’s the one who writes, not the Host --”

He snatched the poem off the bed, and hurried out the door, mumbling fervently under his breath and steps squelching in the the blood-soaked carpet of the hallway.