#i feel like a ghost watching my own shell of a person walk around :/

[rosesandmary]

oh hey i finally got a desk for the lamp thats been sitting on my floor for 6 months

[shoezuki]

Sampo has taken him to dozens of planets at this point, massive ships the size of celestial bodies and burnt out stars that have turned lush with discolored plant life over billions of years. Massive, writhing metropolitans and quaint, warm planets with people who gawked at their appearance. He's seen massive astral leviathans' open maws that span galaxies and ingest stars, phantom ships made of wood and bone slice through shimmering fogs. Planets composed of intertwined living beings, made of twisting and layered plant matter, places where the stars speak low sharp words and dance over his closed eyelids and make him dizzy.

But he hasn't take Gepard to his home planet.

Gepard assumed it was inevitable; he had known a while before Sampo had taken him off Jarilo-IV that Sampo wasn't from Belobog. He'd suspected it but been unsure long before Sampo mended him back to health. It was a partially spoken truth now, while Sampo divulged more information about every aspect of the universe to him.

"When are we going to your home planet?" Gepard had asked, openly, one night they spent on a waterlogged planet with specks of land, watching as the ocean jumped up and strange aquatic creatures swam through thick air.

Sampo had scoffed, Gepard watching him stand and look out over the horizon with his arms crossed. "My home planet? Please, no need to go to that lump of rock! Trust me, it's the worst planet out here. I've walked on gas giants and burning sun's that were better than that place."

"You came from it," Gepard said softly, maybe thinking Sampo would understand why there's something clinging on the inner walls of his heart that make him want to see where Sampo came from so bad. "It can't be that horrible then, right?"

Sampo doesn't speak, but he shakes his head. "Do you wanna go out? Do you think we could swim in the water... sky... thing?" He grins and Gepard let's him change the topic, content to follow Sampo.

He doesn't talk about his planet without Gepard pushing him. He doesn't talk much of anything about where he came from, how he grew up, why he apparently spent years jumping across planets long before he ended up in Belobog. Gepard asks, sometimes, when he feels maybe he can coax a response from Sampo. But he always deflects, gives vague or contradictory answers, or only responds with tame non-answers.

Sampo acts as usual; he talks constantly, about little things or memories or stuff he wants to show Gepard. When he's not talking, he's humming, tapping his fingers against the glass control panels of the ship, kicking his foot absentmindedly against his chair with a constant metallic thunkthunkthunkthunk. He always grins wide when he looks at Gepard, sometimes grabbing Gepard by his face and pressing kisses against every inch of skin so rapidly it's almost overwhelming.

Sampo talks to Gepard when he thinks he's asleep. Gepard, every time, pretends not to listen.

"I don't want to take you back."

Their bed is small, more like a cot made for one person. Gepard had offered it to Sampo the first time they'd investigated their stolen ship but Sampo had just laughed and pulled Gepard to lay with him. Every night Sampo holds Gepard, arms locked around him and keeping his head pressed to Sampo's chest, or his own body weight draped over Gepard like a weighted blanket.

Right now, he hooks his chin over Gepard's shoulder, running fingers through his blonde hair, one hand over his side. Sampo's hand ghosts over his ribs, burning through Gepard's shirt, directly over the rough, newly healed scar.

He's quiet, so painfully quiet, and gentle, with his touch faint and entirely for Sampo's own gain. Gepard nearly drifted off, but now he keeps his eyes closed, his breathing soft, hoping Sampo doesn't feel how his heart jumps when Sampo brushes a finger over the shell of his ear.

"I don't want to take you back," he repeats softly, his words dark and low with the confession, "I'd keep you in this... stupid little ship, in the stars with me forever. If I could. If you wanted. Only if you wanted."

Gepard does want it: to keep waking up to nothing but stars and Sampo's sleeping face or exhausted grin; to listen to Sampo drawl on about all the stars and planets and strange celestial lifeforms they pass with knowledge that feels bigger than Sampo himself; to be dragged from planet to planet, Sampo's hand searing new marks into his own palm and finger prints, his excitement electric and tangible.

Gepard does, deep down, want it. He wants Sampo to himself, too. To give himself entirely to Sampo. But a part of him will always be in Belebog. They both know it.

Sampo is quiet, the next morning. More than quiet--he's subdued, faraway, as if locked inside himself. Even when Sampo isn't speaking he's loud, his presence always drawing and begging for Gepard's attention. Now he seems small, curled in on himself in the piloting seat.

"Sampo?" It feels rude, wrong to break the silence with his own voice, but Gepard does. "Are you okay?" Sampo turns his head, barely, to look at Gepard where he stands against the wall. He shoots him just a smile, but says nothing. It makes more concern coil and simmer deep in his gut.

Gepard has no clue where they are now, in the vast impossibility of space. The universe is foreign to him, but Sampo treats it like an old friend, like he knows it intimately. Gepard has let Sampo take the reigns, guide them to wherever he wants to go. It had stressed him out, at first, the lack of knowing, the unfamiliarity of new worlds. But now more than ever, he's content just being with Sampo. He'd go with him anywhere.

Where they are now, though, feels different. The outside space is dark, swirling celestial bodies of black and grey and bloody reds and browns the colour of bruises. The terrain is made up of fragments of comets, rocks, shattered formations and debris. The debris varies from collections of dust to meteors larger than their ship, jagged and broken apart like Qlipoth had shattered them open with his hammer. Gepard sees the metallic glint of wrecked ships, metal shards embedded in rock and flayed among it all.

He hates this place. Gepard doesn't know if it's him, or if it's some sort of cosmic effect, but there's a heaviness pressing on him. Maybe it's something real, tangible, or maybe it's the way Sampo navigates the wreckages and meteors with a stiff ease in his shoulders.

Gepard walks up to him, quiet behind him. He wants to touch Sampo, feel the heat of him against his palms, but for some reason he feels like he can't. Instead he places his hands on the back of Sampo's seat, his fingers barely brushing against Sampo's back.

"Sampo, are you okay? If... if something is the matter, you can tell me--"

"What d'ya think?"

Gepard blinks, finding himself shocked by the weight of Sampo's gaze suddenly on him. His eyes always have a dull quality to them, the shine underneath his pupils gone save for when Gepard whispers against his skin or presses his lips across his face. Now, though, his eyes are dark, all consuming. They absorb the light and snuff it out, making the small ship feel cold. "I... what?"

"This place," Sampo hums, turning back to focus on navigating. His smile is a practised, stiff line. "It's lovely, isn't it? Or do you find it creepy? Messy? I mean, it's a lot of destruction. There's a good reason no one but ol' Sampo comes around here anymore."

Gepard frowns, feeling like Sampo's having a conversation he's not a part of. "What do you mean? What is this place?"

"There used to be a planet," he pauses, making a noise in the back of his throat, "actually, a few planets. Small ones. They'd been under the IPC's control for a looonnng time. Until they abandoned 'em after clearing all the minerals out and leaving the planets hollow."

His mouth is dry, his fingers digging into the back of Sampo's seat harshly. Sampo's voice is light, conversational, like he's explaining one of the allegedly 'boring and lame' planets they'd passed before. "The planets were basically just rocks, before the IPC made them into mining projects and shipped a bunch of people to work away there. They left the workers when the mines dried up.

"Rivet Town looks almost exactly like the mining planets did, back then." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. "The people who'd scrounged up enough money took off, taking everything they could with them. Mine supervisors left behind their working families and their kids and went back with the IPC while the planets starved slowly."

The ship slows, between asteroids and at the edge of a vast, whirling expanse of debris. It swirls around out and around a burning, black body of... of something, within the center of a shattered planet light years away from them. Gepard stares, and the sight of it burns into his eyes.

"D'you know how Masked Fools recruit people?" Sampo says it with a giggle, not waiting for a response. "Sometimes they just whisk kids away from happy families before they can remember anything. Sometimes people go to the taverns themselves and try and choke down the drinks, but that's not often. Most often, though, the Fools find hopeless, little planets and whisk away orphans seconds before... boom! Planet gone! You never forget the popping noise a collapsing, imploding planet makes."

He cackles, laughter loud and echoing off the metal walls. Gepard's hands are shaking, staring out into the ruined abyss, the remnants of planets and lives and a past Gepard can never, ever see or understand. His eyes burn and his heart aches.

Gepard lunges forward, pressing himself harshly against the chair as he wraps his arms around Sampo. He circles his chest and presses his face into the curve of his neck, holding him so tightly as if Gepard is trying to squeeze Sampo into his very being. Sampo's laughter becomes broken, wet and frantic when Gepard holds him tightly. He shakes under Gepard's tight grip, the shine of tears of Sampo's face as he continues to stare into ruined space. Sampo bites his lip, hard, to stifle himself.

"Come home," Gepard exhales, pressing his words into Sampo's skin, "come home with me. After-- after all this. I don't care how long we're out here or where else we go but please. Please come home with me. I'll copy the key to my apartment. I have enough room in my closet for you. We can--I can buy you wigs and dresses and whatever the fuck you want. Anything."

"Why?" It's a whisper, barely a question. Sampo lifts his hand and grasps the forearm pressed over his chest. "Why?"

"Because Natasha probably still needs your help, and Seele will gut me if you don't return, and Hook without a doubt misses you, and Serval pretends she hates you but still asks me how you are when you text me, and I'm in love with you." He sucks in a breath; saying it always makes him feel airy, lightheaded. "I'm in love with you, and I want you there. Why else?"

There's silence for some moments too long, Sampo still shaky in Gepard's grip. He starts to worry that he's suffocating, that it's too much, but when he tries to pull away Sampo grabs his arms and holds them there, stopping him from moving.

"... but my criminal record's gone," Sampo whines, the faintest bit of humour in his voice. He tilts his head back, eyes still red rimmed when he looks up at Gepard with a searching smile. Gepard, having spent so long with him at this point, knows what he's really saying.

"I'm sure you'll record will be as long as it was before in no time." Gepard grumbles, wrinkling his nose and letting his conflicted feelings into his tone. But he lets it drop away with a sigh, shaking his head and feeling fond. "... as long as you try not to give my Guards too much grief, Koski."

Sampo doesn't say anything, but when he smiles and laughs, when he pokes into Gepard's cheek and says that the Silvermane Captain better not go soft on him, his eyes are shining.

[ashwhowrites]

Angst- no happy ending

A song blurb based on "You don't go to parties" by 5 seconds of summer

Not proofread

It's 5:00 a.m. clinging to my couch

And everyone I ever knew is standing in my house

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

Eddie swallowed down his fifth drink of the night. The room was close to spinning and his eyes couldn't focus on a single thing. Well, they could focus if the one person he craved was here. Brown eyes bouncing around every corner of his big new house. He looked at his watch and sighed, 5 am and here he was lonely on his couch. A house filled with every single person he knew, except the one that mattered most.

He knew there was a tiny chance she'd actually show up. She went to every party she could find. That's how Eddie met her. She was alive and wild. Dancing on tables as she screamed every song at the top of her lungs. She was drunk, a huge mess, singing off key, laughing as her friends tried to get her off the table. But she didn't care. She looked so carefree. Her hair was everywhere, sweat clinging to her skin, and her hips never stopped moving. Many people ignored her, but Eddie swore he's never seen someone so beautiful.

Eddie Munson never went to parties, and the one time he did, he fell in love.

I'm still here in the darkness

Back where we started

You make me a heartless monster

I'm caught up in distractions

Fatal attractions

I'm starting to come undone

If Eddie would have known that following his dreams of becoming a rock star would lead her to walk out, he would have fought harder for her.

He came to the same realization every weekend. Sitting on his couch, drink in hand. A party alive all around him, but he never felt so dead inside. He was scared to admit that he'd never feel alive again. There was no heartbeat in his chest, no air in his lungs and no blood running in his veins. A shell of a broken hearted man on his couch.

The second he tastes a drop of alcohol, he's back in the darkness. Surrounded by the hauntings of her. The way she danced, how she smelled, how she tasted, and how she loved him. But also how she fought, how she'd scream, cry, and punch. Eddie was nowhere near an angel himself, but she made the devil look weak.

She wasn't ever afraid to say what she wanted. And she had no problem throwing Eddie right back in his place when he stepped out of line.

She left, it was plain and simple. He had the chance to prove himself, he never did. He had the chance to kiss her one last time, he never did. Instead he picked up another bottle and drank away her tears. Swallowing the burn of the alcohol, and the burn of her bags being packed. His body on fire from the alcohol in his veins, and the fire in her eyes as she slammed the door.

She allowed herself to be weak with him one time, the one time she'd ever beg a man to love her the way she needed. Eddie Munson just wasn't that man. He was a man for the road, the alcohol and the groupies. She was weak, and he showed her how weak she truly was.

Eddie's mind could never focus on one thing. He'd try to write songs, but there were too many distractions. He moved houses, needed her ghost to be packed away with the past. But somehow the box with her ghost made it into the moving van. And made its own home in his head. He couldn't escape her. He was desperate now, he needed her. He needed to see any sight of her, even if she screamed how much she hated him the whole time. He was becoming more and more undone. Unraveling non-stop.

I got the last five years running out my mouth

Always stay too late, I should kick me out

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

How long until he feels like himself again? Will he ever feel the same again? Will he ever feel better? Or just always worse?

Five years of chasing after her, loving her, and losing her was too much. It doesn't matter what time the last guest left, he was still stuck in that same party all over again. He always stayed too late, he needed to be kicked out. But no one knew he was stuck. Dancing and drinking all around him. No idea he was absent in the "best" years of his life. The best years have already happened, and now he's stuck in the consequences of not being good enough.

He wished she'd come stumbling out of the nearest bathroom. A whine on her lips, begging Eddie to take her home.

"babbbbyyy we need to go home"

Eddie would always laugh and walk her out to the car. Admiring how beautiful she looked as she drew on the windows. Drunk giggles leaving her mouth as he drove them home.

Now, he never gets to leave the parties. He's stuck watching them last all night long. A reminder he didn't have anyone to leave the party for, or with.

He can't help it, but he'll still look around every party for her.

Lost my limit 'cause I'm dumb and I'm passionate

Took my foot off of the break, it's not an accident

Eddie went too far and he lost her.

He was in love and way too passionate. She never seemed to love him enough. He was missing something with her. He tried to find it in her, but he never could.

One night he decided to let it go. He took his foot off the break and let them crash. And fuck, they crashed and burned. Every doubt and insecurity hit the surface. She believed she loved him way more than he could ever love her. And he believed she couldn't ever love him enough.

He fell in love with her at a party

And he fell into a dark place with her at a party

Their relationship left dead on a random road, after a party

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

Tags!

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[eepy-pleepy]

It’s Not Everest (No Vacancy)

The neon “NO” is hidden behind an overgrown shrub, so Dean pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot before they can see that it is, in fact, lit.

“Awesome.” Dean says in a tone that clearly doesn’t think so, and whips the car around to pull back onto the dark road. They immediately hit a pothole and Sam’s head bumps the ceiling.

“Ow, wait, Dean, we didn't go check with the office, maybe they just left the sign lit because they can’t freaking see it–”

“No, Sam, every goddamn motel in this godless town is full up and I don’t particularly feel like walking into another musty fucking office just to have them tell me I need to learn how to read. It’s too damn late, I’m too damn tired, I’m just gonna find a pull-off where the cops won’t feel the need to be our 5AM wake-up call and we’re sleeping in Baby. Fuck it.” He emphasizes the last sentence by throwing the car into park, all seventeen feet of shiny black metal successfully hidden behind a bank of tall, scraggly shrubs off the shoulder of the road. Dean kills the engine and the early summer evening rises to fill the silence with the musical stylings of several hundred crickets.

“Dean.”

“We’ve done it before, Sam.”

“I know we have. What about Cas?”

Dean looks over at the passenger’s side. Sitting shotgun, Cas looks back at him, his eyes just a dark glint in the moonlight.

“I can just... keep watch outside.” He says.

“Bad fucking idea.” Dean snaps. “I wake up in the middle of the night and see you out there lurking, I might shoot you between the eyes. You’re staying in the damn car.”

“Dean, there’s not enough roo–”

“Look, Sammy, passing out is passing out, sitting or lying down. This is a molehill, not Everest. I just need my four hours, damn.”

Dean crams up against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his bent knees against the back of the seat between himself and Cas. He’ll worry about bootprints on the leather upholstery when he isn’t so fucking exhausted.

“Jerk.” Sam mutters from the backseat, almost inaudible.

“Goodnight, bitch.”

“Goodnight, Dean. Sam.” Cas murmurs.

“Don’t make it weird, Cas.”

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam."

Dean gives a little huff through his nose. Cas folds his hands in his lap and turns his head forward to watch the fireflies.

Dean doesn’t like it when Cas watches him sleep. Cas knows this.

But if he doesn't want eyes on him, he shouldn’t be drawing so much attention to himself. This is the fourth time inside of an hour that he’s shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with his sleeping arrangement, six feet of full-grown man trying to figure out how to make three feet work for him.

It's clearly not working out.

Dean's head has fallen against Castiel’s arm. He’s snoring gently, Cas can feel his breath warm through the sleeve of his trench coat.

He shuts his eyes. Pulls his focus down to just this, the upper lefthand side of his body. Feels the weight of Dean's head, the unyielding shape of his skull, the softness of his cheek. Cas turns his head towards him, just to better assess the situation. Not at all to feel the soft tickle of Dean’s hair against his nose and lips. That’s just an... accidental consequence.

Cas feels too big for his own skin. It’s something a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent should be entirely familiar with, but this isn't the feeling of cramming a Chrysler building into a 5-foot-11-inch frame.

This is bigger than that.

The slump of Dean’s body across the seat means that his head is the only thing supported, and it has his neck at a bad angle. If Dean's an angry sleeper, he's even worse with a crick in his neck and Cas doesn't love the idea of being stuck in a car with that tomorrow. He can't pull Dean more flush against his side without the risk of waking him and sending him into a conniption of bruised heterosexuality, so instead, he carefully lifts his arm. It works perfectly: Dean slides forward, falling to lying down with his head in Cas' lap.

The effect is immediate. The uncomfortable pinch between Dean's brows smooths away and he takes a deep, slow breath, settling against his new pillow and sinking into an easier sleep.

Cas hasn't realized he's smiling, yet. It's a tiny, soft thing, the one he gets when he's looking at something precious.

He is.

The moonlight catches the sweep of Dean's eyelashes, the top of his cheek, the shell of his ear, gilding them silver. His lips are parted, plush and dark in the contrast of the pale light. He's slightly curled up on the bench seat and Cas knows it's to fit the small space but that doesn't mean it's not the most fucking endearing thing he's ever seen.

The short hair over Dean's ear is mussed from the way he was slumped like a grumpy turtle past the collars of his shirt and jacket. Delicate, Cas brushes it right again.

Dean shifts, pressing up into his ghost of a touch. Cas draws back, afraid he's been caught doing something definitely not on Dean's approved list of Things Just Friends Do, but Dean doesn't wake. Cas' hand hovers.

He shouldn't. He should return to looking out of the front windshield and prepare the diffusion for when Dean wakes up to find himself sleeping in Cas' lap. That's what he should do.

The trouble is, nothing short of a fucking catastrophe could pull his eyes away from this. Dean is so beautiful, so calm and easy in his slumber, and he's right here, safe and close and warm. Literally right in his lap.

Cas pets Dean's hair, feeling that dangerous constriction again, something so huge and profound it might very well burst him. Dean sleeps on.

"You should tell him."

Sam's voice from the backseat is so quiet it's barely a whisper, but it startles Cas like a gunshot. He turns his head a margin to find Sam watching him, head and shoulders against the back driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did you say something?" Cas tries, matching Sam's barely-there whisper.

"You heard me."

"Tell him what?"

"You love him."

Cas turns his head further so he's not just looking at Sam out of his periphery. There's nothing accusatory in Sam's tone, quiet as it is, or in his posture, cramped as it may be. He looks back at Cas with nothing but the same easy camaraderie he's always shown him, like they're discussing a good book or the lovely weather, not a complete paradigm shift.

In his lap, Dean tucks one hand under Cas' thigh and nuzzles his face deeper against the fabric of his pants. Cas looks down at him again and feels ready to explode into several new galaxies.

"I can't." He breathes.

"Why not?"

"You know your brother, Sam.” Cas says, unable to stop himself from stroking light fingers through Dean’s hair again. “And I’m happy. I refuse to risk losing him in pursuit of something I don’t need from him.”

“You’re right, I do know my brother. Probably better than he’d like to believe.” Sam says. “And I think he might surprise you, given the chance.”

Cas looks back at Sam like he wants to argue, but then just closes his mouth, his jaw bunching. Sam gives a little shrug and sits forward, reaching behind himself for the door handle.

“Just some, uh… food for thought.” He says. “I’m gonna hit the head. I’ll take my time. No particular reason.”

“Sam.”

But Sam’s already unfolding out into the night air, the car rocking as his weight shifts. The crickets are suddenly much louder, invading their little bubble of quiet. In Cas’ lap, Dean twitches.

Sam shuts the car door and Dean sits bolt upright. His gun, dropped in the footwell before he fell asleep, is in his grasp in a blink.

“Sam's just gone to relieve his bladder.” Cas says next to him. Dean squints at him and sniffs, wiping at his groggy eyes, then flicks the safety back on. The gun hits the footwell again with a dull thunk.

"God. Like a damn cashew. You'd think with all that height there'd be more... storage."

Cas is carefully looking forward, and not at the red mark on Dean’s cheek that’s the same shape as the warm spot rapidly cooling on his thigh. Dean rubs at that side of his face.

“Was I…?” He clears his throat. “Uh.”

“Asleep? Yes. I thought that was the idea.”

“Lying on you.”

“You needed to stretch out.”

Dean gives a frustrated sigh. “No, Cas, man, that’s your personal space. You should have shoved me off.”

“It was easier on your neck.” Cas says, still looking straight ahead. “You weren’t bothering me.”

“That’s not the point. You gotta have boundaries.”

“What’s mine is yours, Dean. I have no qualms sharing everything I have with you.”

Dean scoffs, leaning forward over the steering wheel and tilting to pop his spine. “Jesus. You ol’ romantic.”

Cas turns his head to look at Dean. The slightly uncomfortable smirk slowly slips off of Dean’s face. His eyes drop to Cas' lips before he catches himself, and he makes a weak attempt to laugh the charge out of the air between them.

“Man, you gotta figure out your levels. Last person who looked at me like that had me thinking marriage."

“Dean, why do you say things like that?”

Dean’s shoulders shove up under his ears. “You turn eyes like that on some innocent girl she’s gonna up and devote her entire life to you, Cas, I’m just letting you know you gotta tone it down!”

“Why would I turn eyes like this on some innocent girl?”

“Because you’re doin’ it to me like you think it’s a normal thing to do!”

“Dean, maybe you need to figure out how to receive a signal without assuming the other person isn't aware of what they're broadcasting." Cas snaps, then subsides as something like fear flickers across his face.

Dean’s jaw hangs uselessly for a stunned moment.

"Cas. You–"

Cas watches him in the manner of a gazelle waiting for a sudden deadly movement. Dean's gaze flits to Cas’ lips again.

"You. Uh." He says eloquently, and his tongue darts out in a nervous motion. This makes his lips impossible to ignore, shiny and wet in the moonlight.

“It's not Everest." Cas whispers.

"It kinda fuckin' is." Dean says, hoarse.

“Forget it. You should go back to sleep.” Cas says, reaching towards Dean with two fingers. It’s his fighter’s instinct that makes Dean grab them before they can touch his forehead, but it’s something else entirely that bunches his other hand in the front of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. Cas tumbles gracelessly on top of Dean, and Dean doesn’t give either of them time to think.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips, Cas melts. A tiny sound escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, and he’s grasping Dean’s shoulder like it’s the only thing preventing him from falling into the footwell. Their mouths part with a soft, wet noise and Cas meets Dean’s eyes, almost too close to focus on.

His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest from his fall. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, galloping like an outlaw with the sheriff on his tail, and he understands the feeling.

“Dean.” He croaks.

“Yeah.”

“Do that again.”

Dean nuzzles their noses together, nudges Cas’ mouth in a barely-there brush of lips. Cas touches Dean’s face, dizzy with it, feeling stubble rough on the skin of Dean's jaw. He presses forward, holding Dean’s face like the beloved thing it is, and kisses him reverently. Dean sinks against the door until he’s lying across the seats and shoves his arms up under Cas’ suit jacket, encircling his back.

The crickets play them a love song. It’s entirely lost on them.

When Sam returns, approaching the Impala with caution, he finds his brother asleep with his angel hugged against him like a large, man-shaped teddy bear. Cas glances up, clocking the motion of Sam leaning over to peer through the driver’s window, and there’s a smile on his face that Sam’s never seen on him before.

If happy was what he had been, then this? This is pure, unfiltered bliss.

Sam slides carefully into the back seat and shuts the door as gently as he can.

“I’ll save my I Told You So, but only because you look so cute.” He whispers.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Read on Ao3

[undercoveravenger]

Under the Canopy of Trees

Written for my 2021 Halloween event.

Pairing: Werewolf!Riven x Male!Reader

Prompt: “werewolf riven x male reader were the reader is walking through the woods and one day Riven corners him. Reader happens to be his mate and they kinda fall in love after he changes back to human form”

A/N: This is the ninth piece for my Halloween event. The next piece will be released Thursday, October 21st.

-----

The road home from Alfea College had always been a little eerie with towering pine trees boxing you in on all sides and making the trail seem dark and isolated. You’d made the trek through these very woods for the last several years as you worked towards your degree, but in the last few weeks you had begun to feel as though you were being watched whenever you came too close to the treeline. A few times you had thought you’d caught sight of a large animal, but it always vanished too quickly for you to be sure.

Even now, as you were on your way home from a study group that ended far later than normal, the weight of eyes on you had the skin on the back of your neck prickling uncomfortably. You found yourself walking faster than you typically did and wincing whenever you heard a bush rustle or a twig snap.

After the third false alarm, you finally forced yourself to ignore the sounds of the forest and focus instead on making your way home before night fell. Your plan seemed to be going rather well actually, until a hand caught you by the strap of your backpack and tugged you to a stop just before you crossed the treeline.

“And where do you think you’re going?” A deep voice murmured, deep and smooth and far too confident, warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as he spoke.

You tensed at the sensation, heart sinking as you realized that all those suspicions of being followed had been correct. “I’m going home.”

“Then you’re going the wrong way,” the voice teased, grip shifting from your bag down your arm to take hold of your wrist and tug you around to face him.

Your eyes widened as they locked with a pair of dark chocolate ones before taking in the rest of the stranger’s appearance, from his wild brown curls and pale skin to the way his clothes seemed to have been torn and mended many times over to the light dusting of stubble across his jawline. He was undeniably attractive and you felt a strange sort of pull toward him, though you weren’t sure why.

Your brows furrowed as you glanced over your shoulder in the direction that you’d been heading, “I’m pretty sure that I know the way back to my own home,” you retorted.

“I don’t know that you do,” he said, grinning widely as he looked at you. You tensed as his smile revealed the sharp points of a set of fangs where a normal person’s canines would be. “Because you seemed to be under the impression that you’d be able to leave this forest.”

If the appearance of his fangs hadn’t been enough to set you on edge, his words certainly were. You less-than-subtly tried to pull your hand away, and his hold tightened reflexively. “Trust me,” you said, hoping that your voice sounded more confident than you felt, “I will be.”

“Trust me,” he echoed, smirk deepening as he looked at you, “You won’t be,” the words escaped him in a low growl.

Your eyes narrowed and you jerked your hand away, a rough breath hissing out of you as a sharp claw tore through the skin of your wrist.

“Fuck-” The stranger jerked forward reflexively, taking your hand in his and examining your wound. “I’m sorry- This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He huffed releasing you with one hand in favor of digging through one of his pockets and eventually pulling out a bandage.

“You say that like you had a plan?” you murmured, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he began to loop the fabric around your forearm.

He let out an embarrassed chuckle, dark eyes flitting up to meet yours, “I did.” He was quiet for a moment as his gaze dropped back to your wrist, “I thought I’d come up to you and say something suave and you’d fall for me.” He huffed out a despondent laugh, “Hell, if I hadn’t been watching you long enough to know that whatever this was wasn’t going to work.”

You were understandably confused, eyes darting between the brunet and the careful way his fingers were dancing over your arm. “Why were you watching me?”

He opened his mouth as though to say something before thinking better of it. “You’ve already noticed that I’m not… normal. People like me- werewolves- tend to find people that we’re drawn to. It’s kind of like fate, y’know?” He kept talking, like his question was more rhetorical than anything, “I think you’re that for me, but I just hadn’t gotten up the nerve to talk to you until today.” He glanced up at you with a flustered blush clouding his cheeks, fingers still toying at the end of the gauze, though he’d finished tying it off several moments prior. “I kept telling myself ‘tomorrow, Riven; you’ll talk to him tomorrow’ but then today you were so late that I was scared I wouldn’t get the chance at all.”

You couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at the corner of your lips, “You could’ve just asked me out for coffee,” you teased.

The stranger- Riven, you figured- looked up at you, shocked. “Would you have said yes?”

“Dunno,” you shrugged, a sudden playful mood striking you, “Maybe you’ll have to ask me on my walk tomorrow and find out.” With that you tugged your hand out of his grasp and turned back down the trail, shooting him a wink as you left the forest and a dazed werewolf behind you.

There was no way you could’ve known it, but as Riven stood there for a few long minutes after you took your leave, he came to realize that meeting you had firmly cemented what he had long suspected; that you really were the one he’d been Meant to meet. He had already begun to count down the seconds until he could see you again by the time he turned to head back to his own home deep under the canopy of trees.

[adorerdraco]

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 1

Summary: Draco meets and accidentally falls in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP). Part 1 of a upcoming series.

Warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of blood, crying, panic attacks

Words: 6.4K words (I made this so longgg)

A/N: my first Draco writing !!! i am sorry ahead of time if there are any misspellings, typing with long acrylics is hard omg. ALSO PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SEND ME REQUESTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also i do not own this gif.

It was almost satirical how Draco managed to fall in love with someone at what might be, is, the lowest point in his life. It was his sixth year at Hogwarts, the dark mark burned into his left forearm, the restless mending of the vanishing cabinet, the impossible task of killing his Headmaster, the Dark Lord looming over him and his family with promises of torture and death if he didn’t follow through with the orders he was given.

Draco was an empty shell of what he used to be. The playful and mean remarks that would leave his mouth to anyone that stood in his path were gone. The devious twinkle in his eye and the smug smirk that used to grace his face almost 24/7 was reduced to a permanent scowl and red-rimmed eyes. He looked as if he had aged a rough 10 years since the last year he was at school. Everyone noticed it.

Everyone noticed the skipped meals, the lack of sleep, the empty look in his eyes, the falling behind in class. But no one dared say a thing to him. It almost seems as though people were afraid of him now more than ever. The sneer on his face and the reckless and impulsive attitude he held now was like a repellent for anyone that tried to come near. He was completely alone, whether he liked it or not and he decided to keep it that way.

That all changed a few months into the year, however, when you were rushing to DADA, your long house colored scarf getting tangled underneath your feet causing you to trip and lurch forward, dropping all your books, your wand, and crashing into, you guessed it, Draco Malfoy himself. There was a loud cracking sound as you both tumbled onto the ground, a yelp slipping past Draco’s lips as he held his hand in pain.

"Oh, Merlin,” you gasped, Draco shooting you the dirtiest glare. “Draco, I’m so sorry.”

Before he could open his mouth to tell you off and incessantly insult you into oblivion, you reached forward and took his wounded hand in yours, the softness of your hands and tender touch throwing him off guard. He watched you as you examined the damage on one of his fingers.

“It’s just a sprain,” you finalized after inspecting it for a couple seconds. Draco recoiled his hand from yours as if he had touched a hot surface. He moved to get up and you huffed out a “wait, hold on,” as you scrambled around the ground for your wand. When you felt the wood underneath your fingertips, you clutched it and jumped to your feet, gently grabbing onto the sleeve of Draco’s robe who was already trying to retreat.

“Get away,” he snarled, snatching his arm out of your grasp.

“Let me help,” you pleaded softly, “it’ll be quick, I promise.”

Draco looked down at you with annoyance. He was about to leave again until he felt that same tender touch from just a few moments ago. The feeling stunning him again as he looked down at his hand that was now lying palm up in yours.

“Episkey,” you drawled the wand over his injured finger, the both of you watching the swollen and purple bruise beginning to form suddenly fade away.

Draco gave you one last scowl before he snatched his hand out of yours and turned around to leave the corridor, leaving you standing there dumbfounded as he quickly walked away, his cloak floating behind him like the professor, who’s class you now realized you were very late for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

That night, Draco lied awake staring at his ceiling he had charmed to resemble a starry night sky. His mind wandered off to think about spells he could try to help fix the vanishing cabinet and different ways he could kill Dumbledore without actually having to face him. He thought of his parents, mostly his mom, and how much he wishes he could save her and himself from this life. He thought of this school and how much he missed being an unknowing child who just did his schoolwork, played quidditch and bully the Golden Trio. He missed the two-dimensional life he used to live. Even if he used to be a complete ignorant and snobby arse, he was a happy one at that. Only now he knows that life isn’t what mummy or daddy say it is, in fact, it is so much worse.

He found his mind wandering to his uneventful day of dragging himself through his classes and failed attempts on the cabinet in the room of requirement. He then all of a sudden remembered the klutzy y/h/c girl that tripped into him and sprained his finger. He remembered how soft her touch was and how gentle she was in fixing said finger. That feeling was hard to forget. He hasn’t felt such tenderness since he doesn’t know how long. He recalled his mother’s hug before he boarded the train to Hogwarts, but that was ages ago.

In his ever growing turmoil, there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in Draco’s life since he’s returned to school. The coldness he was feeling on the inside was just as apparent as it was in his surroundings. He catches himself wishing he could feel that touch again, something about you radiated warmth, and just as quick as that thought appeared, he pushed it away. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day, as Draco was leaving the room of requirement and into the empty corridor, he felt the familiar ache in his chest that began to flow through his body. He had made little to no progress today on the cabinet. He felt a panic attack on the horizon, his breathing becoming staggered and tears pricking his eyes. He hated it. He hated feeling so weak.

He began rushing towards Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, his tears blurring his vision and just like the day before, he crashed right into someone. Instinctively, he held the other person in place by their biceps so neither of them would fall. But that still didn’t stop how upon impact, the other person’s head had collided with his bottom lip. He squeezed his eyes in pain as he felt the skin break and blood quickly escaping it. When he pulled back, he focused on the figure in front of him and realized it was you. The same klutzy girl he bumped into yesterday. 

“Oh no, not again,” you frown, placing your hand on the part of your head that met Draco’s lip.

“You ought to watch where you’re going, you twit,” he snarls, stepping away from you in anger.

“It was an accident,” you responded just as harshly. You take a deep breath and throw the attitude aside. He was bleeding for Merlin’s sake and you felt bad that it was because of you. “I’m sorry, please let me heal you again,” you offer, taking a step towards him, closing up the space he had made.

“I think you’ve done enough,” he backs up, eyeing you down.

“Draco, please, just let me heal your lip and i’ll be out of your way,” you ask again, your soft and guilt ridden e/c eyes peering up at him through your lashes. Draco’s heart flutters, his anger subsiding for a second and he nods.

You step towards him once more and unexpectedly place a warm hand on his face while the other brings your wand up to his lip where it hovers. It was a non-verbal spell you used this time and he felt the pulsating pain in his lip subside to nothing. 

Even though he was healed, you both stayed in that position, your hand still on his cheek and his eyes gazing into yours. He didn’t realize it at that moment, but the pain in chest had also subsided, just a little. The tears had gone. His breathing was drastically slower.

“What’s your name?” the question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. You gave him a small smile, your hand falling from his face and he frowns when he feels the cold on his skin from the loss of contact.

“It’s Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N” you answer. “We have potions together this year, actually.”

Draco thought back to that class, now that Slughorn was teaching it he hardly paid attention, especially since he felt he was skilled in it anyways so he would let himself slip into his thoughts and let the whole period pass by in a haze. He feels as though he might have heard your name here and there, but he wasn’t so sure.

“Hm, funny, I’ve never noticed you,” he says, not intending it to sound rude but it did. He watches your face fall and he feels a slight guilt poke at him.

“Well, like I said, I’ll be out of your way now,” you mumble to him, brushing past him softly as you continued your path out of the corridor and out of his sight.

He didn’t know why, but he felt a little sad to see you go. He shook his head, shaking the thought from his mind and instead of the bathroom, he decided to go to his room, no longer feeling like he did before your little encounter.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As days went on, Draco ended up paying more attention in Slughorn’s class. Not to the chubby old professor, but to you, who he shared subtle glances with throughout classes and half-hearted smiles.

You wanted nothing more than to continue talking to him. To be in his presence. He was like a magnet to you, while everyone else thought the opposite of him. Even Pansy, who usually was up his ass, distanced herself from the ghost of the boy she once obsessed over. You couldn’t lie, the small crush you harbored on Draco had only grown more and more each day. It started about three years ago, during your third year when you had seen him in the hospital wing after his run-in with Buckbeak.

You remember the sheer shock you felt when you had seen him for the first time that year. The slicked back hair was gone, he had grown several inches taller, maybe even a foot taller now that you thought about it. His voice had deepened into that haughty tone you somehow couldn’t get enough of. But just like you, many other girls noticed these changes too and began pursuing him. Something you’d never had the guts to do.

Until now.

The feelings you had been suppressing for the past 3 years had come back in overflow the second you bumped into him the other day. Even worse this time since you’ve actually had a conversation with him now and the fact that he won’t stop looking at you.

Slughorn pulled you out of your thoughts when he announced to everyone to partner up to brew the potion he had been lecturing us on all week. Draught of Peace.

“This is your chance,” your friend besides you sings to you as you looked longingly in Draco’s direction who hasn’t moved from his spot.

“No, he usually works by himself, I don’t want to bother him anymore than I have,” you sigh, slumping down in your seat.

“Y/N, you’ve been in love with him since third year,” she huffs, “besides, maybe he only works alone because no one can stand being near him.”

“Shhh, someone might hear you,” you hiss, slumping even lower into your seat. “I am not in love with him, it’s just a stupid crush,” you whisper angrily to her while she only rolls her eyes.

“Okay, well, have fun working alone,” she smirks, getting up from her seat and scurrying across the room to join another classmate. You gape at her in distress, she returns the same gesture, mocking you. She then points over to Draco and smiles, giving you an encouraging thumbs up.

You rest your head in your hand for a second, feeling the hot blush that had made its way onto your face and focused your gaze onto the table in front of you. You mentally hexed your friend, who thought it’d be a good idea if she were ditch you so you would be forced to look for another partner. Jokes on her, you’re not getting up from this seat.

‘I can’t go up to him,” you thought, ‘he probably thinks I’m some annoying creep who won’t leave him alone. I’ll just work by myself.”

Draco looks over at you, noticing the empty space beside you and the frown on your face as you pushed your Potions book to the side and sat up to get your cauldron ready. You were alone, and so was he. He fought himself on whether or not he should join you. It was a bold move, especially for him. He was used to working alone, but the longer he looked at you, the more he found himself missing the sound of your honey sweet voice and soft eyes. Before he had any more time to argue with himself about it, he gathered up all his things and walked over to the empty spot next to you.

“Do you want help?” Draco asked awkwardly, immediately regretting his decision to move. Your eyes shot up from the potion book, not expecting to see the blond next to you with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Um, yes, actually, that’d be nice,” you mutter out to him, moving some stuff around on the table so that he would have space for his. You could hardly contain the deep red blush that was already on your face from intensifying at his presence. You swallowed thickly as the realization set in that your longtime crush was right beside you and even offering a helping hand. Which in Draco’s case was extremely rare, almost unheard of. Matter of fact, this is something the Slytherin Prince has never done.

He sets his bag down and his supplies and takes a seat, rolling up his sleeves so that he could get started on crushing the porcupine quills into the moonstone powder. The amount of times he has made this potion by now for himself was sad, but good in this case since he would be able to impress you with his skill.

He worked diligently and quietly and you watched as his long slender fingers worked everything with attention and precision. You were looking up at him every now and then which you now realized was a terrible idea considering you were in the middle of cutting ginger root and you weren’t exactly coordinated to begin with. You felt the sharp blade slide across your finger and a small gasp left your mouth when the pain instantly began once the first drop of blood fell.

Draco looked at you in confusion, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the blood dripping from your hand and your face contorted in pain. You ignored the looks Draco was giving you, afraid that he might be looking at you with contempt for being sloppy.

“Y/L/N, perhaps you should go to Madam Pomfrey,” Draco suggests, now seeing that the cut was very deep as you inspected it. In fact, it was so deep he swore he could’ve seen bone.

“No, it’s fine, I can heal it,” you ignored the sharp pain and placed your hand on the table and pointed your wand at the cut with your uninjured hand. You focused on the cut and closed your eyes, letting your wand do its magic with your unspoken spell. When you opened your eyes, the cut was gone, just a small scar in its place and drying blood around it. “You see,” you smile, turning towards Draco and waving your finger, “brand new.”

“You don’t want dittany for the scarring?” Draco asked with an eyebrow raised.

“No, I don’t mind them and this one is small anyways. They’re like memories to me. Some come from good experiences, some bad. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little clumsy,” you explain, a small smile on your lips.

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” he sighs, “so you’ve managed to become your own healer because of that?”

“Exactly that,” you hummed. “That’s actually what I’m studying to be. I plan on being at St. Mungo’s once we graduate. I’ve been studying for it my whole life.”

Draco was silent for a moment. He watched as you carefully threw ingredients into the cauldron and stirred them with caution. He noticed that despite your clumsiness, you handled everything you touched with a care and gentleness. It was a calming sight to him for some reason and he faintly smiled.

“I think you’d be a great healer,” he complimented quietly. You looked at him with one of the brightest smiles he’s ever seen and his heart swells at the thought of it being because of him. He feels a smile mirroring yours that tries to break through, but he fights it.

“You know, you’re a lot nicer than you let on,” you say quietly, waiting for his reaction from the corner of his eye. Draco wants to give you a snarky remark, just to uphold his cold reputation he’s given himself since his first day back at Hogwarts, but he doesn’t.

Instead of saying anything, he just shrugged and gave you a small smile, turning his attention back to the task at hand. You do the same, choosing to enjoy the comfortable silence that had settled.

When Slughorn came by to check when you finished, he eyed you and Draco and smiled.

"Ahh, Mr. Malfoy, I’m glad you’ve finally decided to partner up with someone,” he gleamed. “Miss Y/L/N here is an excellent potions student such as yourself.”

“Yes, she is,” Draco responded, keeping his eyes trained on the professor. He didn’t want to look at you, feeling embarrassed that he has now complimented you twice in the last 20 minutes. You smiled to yourself, something you’ve been doing a lot of since the slytherin boy sat next to you.

“Well, I suppose you’ll be pleased to know the two of you have brewed an outstanding potion,” Slughorn grins, “both of you will receive perfect marks on this. You can be excused from today’s class now.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you begin gathering your things and turn towards Draco. “I’ll see you next class? Or maybe somewhere around the castle when I accidentally bump into you.”

Draco chuckles and shakes his head, “perhaps. I’ll see you soon, Y/L/N.”

With that, he strides out of the class, you staring at the back of his platinum blond head with a stupid smile on your face.

“You’re welcome,” your friend suddenly appeared next to you, playfully slapping your arm. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen Draco look so... calm.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Weeks had gone by, and several Potions classes. The seat beside you now belonged to Draco and the two of you had in a sense, become friends. Or acquaintances. You couldn’t quite say. 

He was still brooding and mostly kept to himself, but he would converse with you here and there about things, almost always school. The two of you continuously getting outstanding marks on everything you produced much to Slughorn’s delight.

Sometimes he would come to class looking disheveled or angry and those were the days where no matter how much you tried to talk to him to at least maybe get his mind off things, he would ignore you. Wouldn’t even look at you. You couldn’t deny how it had hurt your feelings, but you would brush off the hurt and remind yourself that it wasn’t personal. He was obviously going through something, you didn’t know what, but you had to respect that sometimes he just didn’t want to talk. That was hard. Especially because you just wanted to hear his voice or see him give you that rare smile when you would say something he found amusing or you would accidentally drop something off the table with your elbows or knocked over with your hands. 

You were rounding a corridor when you saw the flash of blond zoom past you. He didn’t see you, but you saw the pointed look in his eyes and the tears that were pooling in the stormy gray eyes that you adored. You mentally fought yourself on whether or not you should follow him, he looked so upset and all you wanted to do was give him a peace of mind. So you followed him, all through two corridors until he disappeared into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Your heart broke at the sobs that filled the bathroom. They were full of pain and despair. The sound of his rapid breathing mixed in with his cries was more than enough to let you know that he was having a panic attack. You pushed open the door slightly to see him hunched over a sink, his robe discarded on the ground along with his vest and tie leaving him in only a white long sleeved dress shirt. 

You wanted to run in and help, but stayed back, realizing that this was something that was extremely personal. You knew he would be livid if you or anyone saw him like this, so broken and emotional. You were about to leave, all of a sudden feeling very ashamed for even following him in here. You watched as he looked up into the mirror, an anger flashing in his eyes as he stared at the reflection looking back at him. Not yours, but his. All he could see was a monster staring back at him. A failure. A weak man. He was disgusted and angry with what he saw and before he knew what he was doing, he had pulled his fist back and you watched it collide with the middle of the mirror where he had been. The glass shattered upon impact, the shards now flying in all different directions and embedding into his knuckles. He fell to the ground on his knees, in pain and clutching his fist as his cries only got louder. 

That was when you threw open the door, rushing in to help him, not caring that you were going to have to put up a fight in order to even get near him. Draco’s eyes shot up to meet yours, and just like you thought, he was beyond pissed to see you. 

Draco has never felt such humiliation in his life. The beautiful and kind y/h girl he had acquainted himself with, was now looking at him with pity. He grabbed his wand from his pocket, pointing it at you with such quickness that you faltered in your steps.

“Get. Out!” He yelled, his wand shaking violently in his uninjured hand. He would never hex you, but he figured you would fall for his bluff and leave. But you didn’t. You only sat yourself down a few feet away from him and felt your own tears begin to fall. “Y/L/N, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t leave, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you challenged. “I just want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” he sneered, his wand still pointed at you.

“You’re bleeding, a lot, Draco,” you point to his bloodied hand that curled to his chest. “You know I can save you a trip to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey’s interrogation.”

After a few moments of silence and a wand still pointed at you, you slowly scoot towards him. Your hand encloses around the one holding his wand and you lower it for him while he watches you. He was still crying and breathing heavily. His panic attack somehow getting worse now and no longer having the energy to fight you. You finally reach him, now knee to knee with him and you place a hand on his shoulder.

“Draco, just breath with me,” you say calmly. “In,” you took a long exaggerated inhale, and after a few seconds, “out,” and let out an equally exaggerated exhale. You did that with him for a while, his pained gray eyes focused on yours the whole time, never breaking eye contact. Once he was calmed down enough and was just left with the post crying hiccoughs, you took his injured hand in yours. There was shards and particles of glass stuck in his reddened and bloody skin.

You reached into your robe pocket and pulled out a set of tweezers you kept with you. You often found yourself getting splinters or tiny rocks stuck in your skin when your hands hit the pavement when you’d fall you try and catch yourself.

“This might hurt,” you warn, starting to remove one of the biggest pieces. He sharply inhales as you try your best to do take it out carefully.

It was quiet the rest of the process, just sniffles and gasps from Draco when you had removed a piece that especially hurt. When you were done, you waved your wand over the gashes and watched as they faded into faint pink scars. You got up, pulling him with you and took him to the sink where you rinsed off the blood from both your hands and his. 

He couldn’t say anything. He didn’t know what. He just stared at you, dumbfounded and confused. You turned your body to face his and he did the same, eyeing you carefully and still very cautious to any move you made.

“I can leave now, if you’d like me to,” you offer quietly. He stayed silent, wondering if he should just send you off. But he didn’t want to. You had already seen him at his worst, and he was terribly alone, so he just shook his head ‘no.’ You looked up at him and decided to risk it all. “Can I give you a hug?”

Draco was stunned at the question, his heart pounding against his chest. “I suppose,” he managed to let out in a strained voice.

You slowly stepped closer to him and slid your arms up his biceps until your hands met behind his neck. You stood on your tippy toes and pulled him into you, his chin now resting on your shoulder as your hand smoothed the back of his head. You felt him stiff under your touch and as he got comfortable in your embrace, his arms raised from his sides and snaked around your waist, pushing you flush against him. You stayed like that for what felt like forever, and he held you tightly, not wanting to let go.

This was the first time in a long time that he had felt any type of relief. It had been such a constant uphill battle for him, day after day. He took a deep inhale accidentally, but the smell of your perfume and shampoo filling his nose and his mind made him feel at ease. The warmth of your body from underneath his fingertips brought him peace and succor.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair so quietly that if you weren’t so focused on him, you would’ve missed it.

“Anytime.”

That was the day Draco Malfoy became your friend.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Potions class was no longer the only place you would see Draco. Now that the two of you were comfortable with one another and he trusted you more than anyone else, he found himself hanging out with you every day during his free time when he would be done messing with the cabinet.

It would be taking walks around the castle. Sneaking out at night and meeting behind statues to talk. Sitting together at a bench in the courtyard. Skipping stones along the Black Lake. It’s been months of this. Months of friendship he so desperately needed. You had helped him through several more panic attacks and meltdowns, each time coming closer together. He never told you about what caused them. The worst ones were when he found he had almost killed Katie Bell and Ron Weasley, and as much as you begged him to tell you, he kept his mouth shut. 

He had spent so much time with you that it was affecting him. But for the better. He found himself eating again at the Slytherin table and his friends were more than excited to have him back. He still wasn’t too buddy-buddy with everyone as he once was, but he joined conversations and shared a couple jokes. He was even sleeping a little more. He was still beyond stressed, but it wasn’t as gut-wrenching. He enjoyed Potions again and even started paying a little more attention in his other classes. His new found energy even helped him greatly progress in mending the vanishing cabinet, finally making a breakthrough in fixing it.

He would lie awake at night sometimes and thank Merlin you crashed into his life, literally. You were like an angel to him, healing his heart with every word and smile and touch you sent his way. It was easy with you. He tried his best to keep his emotions at bay, reminding himself that when he would have to follow through with his task, he would lose you and that thought pained him to no end. But he was selfish, and he adored you with every fiber of his being so he couldn’t leave you alone. And especially not when he needed you most.

Today, you lied in the grass, shoulder to shoulder and staring up at the sky and watching the clouds. You were a little ways from the castle, away from all your other classmates and teachers and it was nice. Finally being able to enjoy time with the Slytherin Prince without people gawking at the two of you.

“My mother used to do this with me when I was a small,” Draco trailed off, his eyes following a particular funny shaped cloud. “She would take me out to the garden behind the Manor, usually when father was doing some work at the ministry. But we would sit against this tall oak tree and I’d be on her lap and she’d have her arms wrapped around me and she would point out the funniest shaped clouds and try to pinpoint what they resemble. Sometimes she’d even joke around and say the weirdest shaped cloud looked like father.”

You giggled at that last part, your heart swelling at the story. He rarely talked about his family, but when he did, it would always be of his mother and a happy memory he had with her, never his father.

“Draco, can I ask you something?” you turn onto your side, your elbow holding you up as you gazed down at him.

“What do you wanna know, darling?” you blushed at the nickname but brushed it aside, knowing he only meant it in a friendly way.

“Forgive me if it’s rude, you don’t have to answer,” you begin, “but do you miss your father? I know it’s none of my business and I’m so sorry the Daily Prophet put your family business on blast like that. I can’t imagine how that must have felt.”

Draco frowned and followed you in turning onto his side and propping himself up with his elbow to face you. You remembered the image of Draco and his mother on the newspaper, bright lights flashing across their faces as all the press tried to get picture of them after the sentencing of Lucius Malfoy to Azkaban. You remembered seeing Draco look so sad, yet strong beside his mother as he looked from her and then into the camera with disdain. 

“Sometimes, I do,” he answers, eyebrows furrowed as he thought of his father. “My whole life, he’s expected nothing short of perfection from me. There were no room for mistakes, and if I made any, I would be punished for them. I remember coming to Hogwarts was like an escape, a place where I could finally sort of relax and be a child. I don’t miss his scolding or his coldness. But I miss having a father, I miss going home on that first day of summer and seeing both my parents even if he was going to reprimand me for something later on in the day. He’s been with me my whole life, and now he’s gone, stuck in a cell in Azkaban. He’s never going to be the same. Home is never going to be the same.”

You felt tears prick your eyes as you listened to the boy beside you, a distant look in his eyes as he turned back over on his back to look at the sky in the middle of his explanation. You sat up and he did the same, looking at you with a frown when he noticed you were about to cry. You took your hand in his and held it tightly.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” you mumble. “You don’t deserve any of the bad things you’ve been through.”

“I do,” he shrugs. “I’ve been a real git since I’ve been at Hogwarts, you know.”

“You’re different now,” you say. “Sure, you still haven’t lost a little bit of the Malfoy snobbishness and you’re still a bit of a git, but you’re kinder and more gentle. You’re a lot more empathetic and perceptive. I mean, I’ve never spoken to you prior to this year, but your reputation follows and the Draco in front of me doesn’t seem anything like the Draco you were.”

“How you’ve managed to insult me while complimenting me is something I’ve never seen anyone be able to do successfully is astonishing,” he laughs, a smile growing on his face as you laughed with him.

“I’m serious, Dray,” you giggle, “I think you’re a good person.”

“I’m not good,” he thinks to himself. The compliment leaving your lips made him feel foul. He didn’t deserve to have such a kind soul complimenting him to be something he’d never amount to. He frowned and harshly stood up, and you quickly followed. Suddenly afraid that you might have overstepped your boundaries.

“Where are you going?” You ask, fear trembling in your voice. He begins to hurriedly walk off and you chase after him, stopping in front of him so you could place your hands on his chest to stop him. 

“Y/N, let me go,” he pleads. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“I think I’ve been around you long enough to know who you are.”

“Not long enough.”

You stare up at him, but he refuses to look at you. His body feels rigid under your touch and it pains you to see him beginning to shut down again.

“I know something has been bothering you this year, and I know it’s not just because of what happened with your father,” you start. “I don’t know what is hurting you so deeply enough to make you hate yourself, but I’m here to tell you that whatever that thing is, it doesn’t define you.”

Draco swallows thickly, the tears already falling down his cheeks. “It does, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you cry with him. “Even if you don’t see your goodness, I do.”

Both you and Draco are crying, the tree you were now standing under was swaying violently in the wind, as if it was picking up on your guys’ emotions. You placed a hand on his cheek, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’m not good,” he whispers to you, “and once you see that, you’re going to hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Draco Malfoy,” you promise, a complete sincerity in your voice that it makes his heart jump.

Draco lifts his head up and sniffles, he watched you do the same, peering up at him through your wet lashes. He brought his thumb up to smooth the crease in between your eyebrows, letting it fall down to your cheeks where he wiped away the stray tears that had stilled. His hand then landed on your mouth that was pulled down in a grimace that matched his own. His thumb grazed over your lips, the softness of them nearly driving him mad. He wanted nothing more than to feel them against his own, but he couldn’t bring himself to kiss you. He didn’t want to drag you into the darkness of his life more than he already has.

“Kiss me,” you said to him, so softly but it rang loud in his ears. You had seen the way he looked at you and how he seemed so focused on your lips. You knew what he was thinking because it was exactly what you were thinking. You wanted this just as badly as he did. “Kiss me.”

Every argument he had in his head vanished and suddenly he closed the small space between the two of you and gently placed his lips onto yours. It was a fluid movement, like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

Your hands found their way in his hair, holding him closer to you and he did the same by gripping onto your hips. His lips were soft against yours, filled with fervor and desire. He was gentle with you, but you could still feel the deepness of his kiss and how it intensified with each second. He had put all his emotions into it, his care, his appreciation, his want, his sadness, his grief, his love.

When he pulled away and the two of you stood there staring at each other with love stricken eyes, he realized he had made a grave mistake.

He realized he was in love with you. He realized that he would never be able to let you go, and you would never let him go. And he knew that with the direction his life was going in, one way or another, you would get hurt and he would lose you, maybe even to death itself.

So in that moment he knew. As much as he loved you and wanted more than anything to be with you, he couldn’t put you in that position where you would be staring evil and death in the face. He wouldn’t tarnish your beautiful soul like that.

“I have to go,” he breathed out. “Please, leave me alone. For good.”

And with that he turned away, leaving you standing under the tree with tears falling down your face, a sob escaping your throat and the sound of your knees hitting the grass below you. He held back his own cries and walked faster away from you, knowing you had finally done damage to yourself that you couldn’t heal, and it was all his fault.

PART 2

[subspencer]

Neighborly Favors

baby!spencer x fem!reader

based on this request from @spencergubler

spencer discovers what his neighbor does for a living, and she offers to give him a show EDIT: i realized after posting i switch from using third person/‘she’ to second person/‘you’ halfway through. my excuse is i was sleep deprived. hope you can overlook the error!

wc: 2.3k. cw: none

He's only ever seen his neighbor in passing, catching the flash of her coat as she enters her apartment while he's leaving his, or seeing the top of her head as she's walking by on the street when he looks down from his window. Most people don't take enough interest in their neighbors to care to get to know them, and normally Spencer wouldn't care either. Except this neighbor plays some pretty interesting music, which he can hear through the thin walls connecting their apartments.

He's not exactly sure what she's doing when she's playing her music loudly, but it doesn't sound like she's with anyone. And not that he's trying to invade her privacy, but he also doesn't hear anything happening that's remotely as sexual as what the music is. It kind of sounds like she's working out? He's not sure.

What little information he has on her only inspires his mind to think of her more often. To solve the mystery of his next-door neighbor, who comes home just as he's leaving for work, who he thinks always looks pretty despite never having seen her face.

Unfortunately, his sweet, innocent mind doesn't consider what most would think is the obvious answer. He has to find that out himself after he finally sees her, properly, in the hallway, trying to break into own apartment by picking the lock.

"Are you locked out?" He manages to speak calmly even though his mind is racing looking at her. She has on a short coat that stops just above her knees, and a pair of heels that look incredibly tall. All he he sees between are long, bare legs.

"Yeah.” She sighed, dropping the bobby pin she jammed into the lock. “Can I wait in yours until the maintenance guy comes?"

And he has no idea how he doesn't just pick up his feet and start running, but he actually lets her in, and now it's just the two of them sitting on his couch, multiple feet apart as they try to find conversation to fill the awkward silence.

"So... what do you do for work?"

"I'm a dancer."

"Oh... like ballet or-"

She looks at him like he's grown a second head and laughs, "I'm an exotic dancer."

"Oh."

He folds his hands in his lap and is suddenly extremely red. From the embarrassment of looking stupid in front of her, for one. And a bit because now he's thinking about her, in those exact high heels she has on, dancing in a dark room.

"These aren't the shoes I wear for that."

His head snaps up at her, terrified he’d said those thoughts out loud. He must not have realized he'd been staring down at her shoes for a moment too long, and that given her profession, she can tell when a guy's looking at her a certain way. Lucky for him, she finds his bashful innocence to be endearingly cute.

"They're a lot taller than this. I just wear these to get to and from work. You can see them sometime," she shrugs. Too coolly offering to show Spencer what she looks like when she dances.

He really doesn't know what to say, it probably should not have been what he ended up saying, "So the music from your place then?" He blinks at her, hands holding his knees so he has something to do with them. When she doesn't answer right away, he offers his signature frog smile, feeling incredibly awkward still.

"Sorry, didn't realize it was so loud." She looks genuinely apologetic, and it makes him feel bad for saying it like that.

"No, I mean- I mean is that like, the music that..." She knows what he's trying to ask, but it's just so much more fun watching him squirm trying to figure out how to word it in a tactful way. "Is that what you listen to at work?"

God, he's so cute, managing to find the most unassuming way to ask that. "It's what I dance to, at work, yes."

"Cool." He has no idea why he asked that. Or where to take the conversation from there. Now he's just sitting in that silence again, staring pointedly at his floor as he ignores the new mental image of her next door, kept apart from him by only a paper thin wall as she practices her routines in her living room.

Spencer's not a creepy guy, he's really not, but he feels like one when he's picturing his neighbor naked while she's sitting right next to him.

And who is she helping when she takes off her coat (because Spencer's apartment is eighty degrees)? Certainly not Spencer, who is half-expecting her to be wearing her uniform underneath. He's relieved when it's actually just a dress. And then he hates himself for thinking it wouldn't be.

She’s too sharp to not catch the look that flashed across his face as she took it off. Curious, excited. Maybe a little lustful. Nervous, for sure. But curious is what she was going to cling onto.

“Do you at least like some of the songs?” She said behind a devilish grin.

“I uh... I haven’t heard any of them, before-”

"What's your favorite?"

Spencer let out an airy chuckle, shrinking under the pressure that she wouldn't let up. He can't answer that question without incriminating himself a little bit. It was easier to laugh and brush it off like she was joking.

"Spencer, I know you have a favorite," she pressed, scooting a tad closer. Her chin rested on her hand, propped up by her elbow resting on her crossed-over knees. "If you tell me I might show you the routine."

The lump in his throat is visible as he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He wipes his sweaty palms on his knees before suddenly you're grabbing them, calling his attention as you stand up in front of him.

"I was going to practice anyway. I'm working on a new routine." His eyes can't get wider as you pull him up from the sofa and drag one of his dining room chairs to the center of the living room. "Maybe you can tell me if it's good."

As you queue up the song on your phone, Spencer does the only thing his mind is capable of doing. To sit down and wait for what's coming. Music starts playing softly from your phone speakers, and you move to the light switch in his living room, gesturing to ask if it's alright as you hit the dimmer.

Even in the dim light, Spencer can see how beautiful you are. He can make out the features of your face if he trains his eyes hard enough, and that's exactly what he's doing. Trying to watch your face, even as you're sauntering towards him, hiking up the hem of your dress.

"You okay?" Your tone was playful and light, two things Spencer did not feel capable of being right now. He felt completely serious as you placed a hand loosely on his shoulder, dragging it along his body as you circled the back of his chair, across his back and bracing his neck. Cupping under his jaw so tenderly before letting go. It lit up each nerve ending that came across your path.

You were behind him again, sliding both your hands down the front of his chest with soft pressure, dragging them down as your lips came to ghost near his neck. Your face just barely touched his skin, grazing it in a feather-soft way that made him tickle.

Each cell in his body came to attention under your touch. His eyes almost drifted shut to succumb to the feeling, but then you stood in front of him, swaying your hips gently as you sunk down towards the floor, bracing your self with a hand on each of his knees

As you came up, your hands slid up his thighs, using him as a brace to bring your body closer to his, diving towards him with your chest to his face. You moved slow on the way up, giving him time to appreciate the cleavage revealed by the skimpy dress as you did.

His eyes were still locked on yours, cowering under the attention and to nervous to look anywhere else.

"I-I don't know what to do with my hands," he chuckles, blushing hard.

You hum, turning around and taking a seat on his lap, pushing your hips slowly back until they met his crotch. You gave him a soft grind before letting your back fall to his chest, wrapping one arm around his neck. Taking his free hand into your own, you placed it gently around your thigh before trailing it up your body, allowing him to push the hem of the dress further up as your hands travelled towards your chest. You let his fingers toy with the lace edge of your panties for a second before ghosting them over the swell of your chest, skimming just briefly and teasingly, before dropping his hand back to his side.

Lifting up from your hips, you suspended your body over his, rolling in slow motion just above his lap, barely making contact with his body as he watched you. Still using his chest to bear your weight with your arms hooked around his shoulders, able to crane your neck to the side and place soft kisses on the shell of his ear before sighing deeply into it.

On instinct, his hands fly up, gripping your waist and bringing you back down to him against his hard dick. Immediately, he dropped his hands, feeling suddenly rude for being so forward and demanding. Instead, he was rewarded with a gracious bounce of your ass against him, a few times before grinding deeply against him.

Just as a groan fell from his lips, your fingernails scraped against his shoulder, ducking under the collar of his shirt to feel the bare skin. His hips buck up in reaction, and he's quickly embarrassed again.

"It's okay," you coo, running your hand through his hair. He follows your fingers as they run through the strands, chasing after them, so you provide him with a gentle tug. He bites back a moan and you tug harder, determined to make it fall from his mouth.

He lets out a surprised gasp and his arm wraps over your waist, weighing you down so you couldn't move too far from him. You almost want to tease that clients are never allowed to touch the dancers like this, but you fear that then he might stop. So, you don't.

Just for his benefit, you give him a deep, exaggerated moan right in his ear as you roll against his dick, allowing your free hand to wrap over the arm gripping your waist so tightly. When he starts subtly shifting in his chair, you can feel him getting closer.

He starts rolling his hips in time with yours, pushing them into you as you shift yours back, pressing your bodies ever closer. His eyes flutter shut as he bunches up the fabric of your dress, knotting it in his hands as he tries to hold himself back.

You break another rule when you wrap your lips over his earlobe, sucking it softly into your warm mouth before releasing, "It's okay."

It's all the permission he needs, both of his arms now pinning you against him. He gasps as his hips jut up, staggered and out of rhythm, a few times before he lets out a strangled moan, spilling his release inside his trousers.

It was never your intention to let it get this far, but you're so glad it did when you see his face, covered in a light sheen of sweat and pupils blown with lust. His naturally plump, pink lips are red and swollen from biting down so hard. That slicked-back hairdo he had before is now tousled up from your fingers knotting through it. He looks nothing like that shy, innocent boy who opened his door to you just thirty minutes ago. He's something else entirely, panting for air as he comes down from his climax.

When his eyes open again, they still look at you as softly as they did before. With the same admiration, and maybe now a deeper level of want.

You've never been one to be at a loss of words, but you truly don't know what to say now that you've seen your very cute neighbor come undone under you. And that he looks at you so sweetly despite what's just transpired. You keep it light and playful just as before as you climb off of him, searching for your phone and purse while he excuses himself to the bathroom to clean up.

While he's gone, you hear the maintenance guy coming down the hall, and you have no reason to stay. Just as you go to leave, he comes back out, and he hides his disappointment poorly because you look like you're making a quick escape. But when you see him, your hand leaves the doorknob and you turn to say goodbye.

His long legs carry him across the length of the room quickly, stopping just short of you, and you notice just how tall he is as he towers over you. His eyes flicker between yours and your lips, wanting to kiss you, but unsure where the boundary lies.

You lean forward to kiss him, the gap between you narrowing and your eyes drifting closed.

"Can I take you out?" he stops you in your tracks. He starts panicking internally, taking your stunned silence as a rejection. "Like, on a date? Is that... is that okay?"

Then you finally lung forward, crashing your lips over his as you bring him down to you by his neck, pulling him closer. His mouth chases yours as you separate, and you leave a trail of sweet pecks over his lips and chin, smiling at him and nodding, "It's okay."

-

-

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[americxn]

Make Me Feel Again

⬩James helps the reader adjust to their new state as a ghost⬩ wordcount: 3.8k warnings: ice play, fingering, cunnilingus

The hard wood of the door was cold beneath the knuckles you rapped on its surface, the overly ornate neckline of the gown you wore prickling at your skin. Tipping back your head, you let out a prolonged exhale, forcing the tears that attempted to build in your eyes to dry. The air shifted as the door before you was pulled open, James’ face appearing before you. “Darling, you look ravishing.” He held out his hand expectantly and you gave him a tight smile, noting the slightly wary look on his own face.  “Come in. Take my hand.” He spoke softer than you had ever heard him speak before, his gentle tone almost coaxing those tears to form once more. Accepting the hand he offered you, James walked you into the room, his pace slow and considerate as he steered you for the large dining table in the centre of the space. “It will take some time for you to acclimate yourself to your new state.” He offered in attempted comfort. You hummed in response, if only to notify him that you had heard his words.   The chair that James pulled out for you was cold against the backs of your exposed legs as you sat, Miss Evers hurrying over to pour some deep red wine into the crystal goblet sitting before your empty plate. You couldn’t even muster the energy to thank her, opting for a gentle smile instead. She gave an understanding dip of her chin.

“How do you feel?” James asked sincerely, easing himself into a crouch before your chair. The hand he placed on your shoulder was cold. Hesitating, you pushed away the sarcastic answer you wanted to give him, instead sorting through your thoughts in order to find a somewhat coherent answer. “I don’t.” You finally answered with a shallow shrug. James peered up at you with a small frown. “It all just feels... empty. Cold, I guess.” You mumbled the last part, pulling your gaze from his and taking the glass of wine laid out before you, drinking deeply. “Ah, yes.” James pondered, pushing himself to his feet and pressing a casual kiss to your temple before meandering to his seat at the other side of the table. “You get accustomed to that feeling. And by the time you do, all of your other emotions will have returned. You will learn to feel again, granted not as passionately as before, but that isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, dearest.” You flicked your eyes up to his across the table, clearing your throat as you beheld the intensity in his dark gaze. The room fell into silence as James continued to survey you from across the space. You drank again, Miss Evers swooping in to furnish your empty plate with steaming food.  You thanked her, but had no intention of actually eating. Your stomach felt hollow but the thought of eating had a bundle of nausea unfurling in your gut. “You don’t have to eat.” James said quietly, understanding softening his usually hard features.  “Thank you.” You murmured. James began eating, his silence an offering of space for personal thought as you brooded from your spot on the other side of the table. “I never thought that I’d miss pain.” You eventually mused, reaching out to pull the closest candle holder to you. The heavy metal scraped against the table as you did so. James looked up once more, one of his eyebrows quirking up slightly as you held your hand over the flame, bringing the burning wick closer and closer to your skin. The pain didn’t register, causing your heart to sink. “Pain becomes...neutralised.” James tried. “What hurts will hurt, just to a much smaller extent.” Pulling your hand away from the candle, you sighed once more, pushing it back to its original place on the table. James shot Miss Evers a look as your shoulders curved inwards, your elbows coming to rest on the table before you, a perfect portrait of numb sorrow. Miss Evers moved quickly, taking away both yours and James’ plates before hurrying from the room. Your chin wobbled slightly as James stood, his face falling into deep thought as he pulled a cigarette out of his engraved silver case, pausing briefly to reach over and light it on one of the candles on the table before hurriedly sucking on it to ignite it fully. “Darling...” He drawled, the undertones of empathy hidden in the word causing you to look at him. You swiped at your cheek with the back of your hand as a single tear fell, brushing it away before it was given the chance to track down your face. Perching before you on the corner of the table, James offered you his cigarette, holding it to your lips. You accepted, taking a deep drag before leaning back into your chair. “I know that it means very little to you now. But eventually you’ll begin to forget what living emotions feel like. They’re replaced by easier ones in death, just give them time to develop.” You smiled tearily at him, appreciating his words and taking comfort in them. Your smile quickly faded. How long would that take? You had only been dead for a day, and the utter emptiness within your chest was suffocating. You felt as if you had been reduced to a hollow husk, a shell of your former self. The thought devoured any hope that James had just ignited within you at his words. “Help me feel again.” You blurted, desperate for any solution to the abysmal fate that you now had to endure. James puffed on his cigarette in thought. “And how am I to do that?” He ventured. “I don’t know, I just... I want your comfort.”  It was true, and the words seemed to settled in the space between the two of you. You and James had known each other for a long time and had often displayed your affection towards one another: stolen kisses in dimly lit corridors, his hand brushing against yours beneath the bar as Liz served the two of you drinks. You liked James, and his own affection for you was undeniable. Amidst all of this, now seemed like the perfect opportunity to become closer with James. What else was there really to do in this retched hotel for all of eternity? With another drag of his cigarette, James surveyed you with curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned your confession over in his mind.  “You said that you felt cold?” He enquired, pushing off the table and walking slowly for the low counter he had pushed against the wall, its surface covered with large crystal decanters filled with various alcohols. “Yes.” You confirmed, watching him as he poured a glass of bourbon, pausing to drop some ice cubes in it before turning to you. “Feeling cold isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, dearest.” You huffed half-heartedly at his words, your eyes drifting to the surface of the dark wood table before you.  James’ pace was lingering as he slowly meandered back to where you sat, alternating between taking sips of his drink and pulling on his cigarette, his brow creased with the potency of his own thoughts.  “I’ll show you.” He went on, pausing by the table and reaching over to snub out the butt of his cigarette on the small ashtray that resided in the centre. You raised your chin, frowning slightly in question. “Come here.” He said, glancing to you before taking another drink. You stood slowly, confused, but did as he asked and walked to stand before him. “You want to feel?” He asked, taking a step closer to you, the scent of alcohol stark on his soft breath that settled over your face “Yes.” You breathed.  He smirked slowly, draining the last of his drink, the empty glass clutched in his pale grasp.  Leaning down, he caught your lips with his in a kiss so brief that were unsure that it actually happened. Your breath caught as he pulled away, stepping around your body so that you stood between him and the table, pressing his body against yours, the backs of your legs hitting the edge of the table as he herded you towards it. Your stomach fluttered, your pulse quickening. He seemed to sense the physical change of your body as his hand reached up, his head cocking slightly as he trailed his thumb from your collarbone up to the side of your neck, pressing the pad of his thumb into your pulse point and letting out a small sigh through his nose. You were frozen under his touch, trying to anticipate his next move as he leaned closer, placing his empty glass by your thigh before moving his hand from your neck to your chest, pushing slightly. You fulfilled his unspoken request, pushing yourself onto the edge of the table and parting your legs slightly, pleased when James followed your invitation by placing himself between your open thighs. “How -”  “Hush now. You want to feel don’t you?” He cut you off, his face once again coming so close to yours that you could taste his breath. You swallowed but nodded, James’ lips turning upwards slightly as he tracked the movement in your throat, pleased at your responsiveness. “Then let me tend to you.”  You fell silent, your eyes never straying from his as he reached around your body, his fingertips cold as they hooked into the low-cut back of your dress. The sound of the material tearing filled the room as James, with one swift, effortless tug, ripped your dress apart, the material falling open and pooling around your hips.  The front of the dress collapsed, It’s strapless bodice flopping forwards to reveal your bare chest to him. Your eyes were wide, but you couldn’t bring yourself to cover your modesty, not as James’ dark eyes turned positively feral at the sight of your tits that were already becoming heavy with lust under his scrutiny.  One of his hands moved from where it hovered at your back, up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling into the bottom of your hair. Pulling back, James tugged his tight hold on your scalp, forcing you to follow his pull off the table. The rest of the ruined dress fell to the floor before James tugged again, harder this time. You reigned in your gasp of surprise at his sudden roughness, meeting his stare with confidence.  James smiled easily as he used his grip on your hair to seat you back onto the table before untangling his fingers from your hair and pushing you by the shoulders so that you lay flat on the table. You shuddered, all predictions of what James’ next move would be evading you. The ice in his empty crystalline glass clinked against each other as James picked it up from the table, leaning down over your body. The fabric of his clothes was soft against your exposed skin and you braced your hands on his shoulders as his face came into view above yours. The next kiss that he planted on your lips was soft, exploratory and idle. There was nothing that you could do but lay still under James, allowing him to brush his lips against yours over and over again, the pace with which he ever so slowly deepened the kiss intoxicating, lost in his curious inspection of your mouth. In truth, James truly was lost in the warmth of your lips as they pressed against his. It had been years since he had first fantasied about how you would feel, how you would taste, against his lips and he’d be damned if he let the opportunity to divulge in the reality go to waste. Eventually, when you arched up slightly into him, your naked chest pressing into his, James pried your lips open with his tongue, pushing into your awaiting warmth and taking his time in exploring you there, too. You kissed him back, feverish under the gently stroking ministrations of his tongue as is swept against yours again and again. When he pulled away, a low groan worked itself up from the back of your throat, much to James’ pleasure, whose cock stiffened ever so slightly at the sound you produced due to his touch. “James, please do something.” His cock shot up fully at that, his brain recording your words and storing the memory of your breathless tone in a dark pocket of his mind to replay whenever he pleased. “Patience, dearest, is something that you will need a lot of in the afterlife.” You huffed at his avoiding statement, allowing your back to fall fully onto the cold surface of the table once more. You lifted your head when the sound of the ice cubes in James’ glass once again rang through the room, watching as he reached in, plucking up a single half-melted piece of ice from the glass with his fingertips. James glanced at you, ensuring that were watching before placing the ice on the base of your throat. You gasped, the coldness of the ice numbing your skin almost instantly and seeping into you. Placing the glass back down, James leaned over you one more, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss to your lower lip, then your chin and then another on the column of your throat. Trailing his lips down even further, his teeth closed on the ice and your pussy flooded with wetness when, using his mouth, James traced the ice to your collarbone, drawing a line of wetness along the length of it before slowly trailing it to your other collarbone. Your breathing became more and more laboured as James dragged the ice across your chest, painting your skin pleasantly numb. His hands found your hips as he pressed himself further in between your legs, undeniably aroused by your gasped reactions and gripping onto your flesh. Any coherent thought faded from your brain as James slowly moved up the slope of one of your tits, every nerve of your being zoning into the coldness of the ice as he pushed it up, up, to the peaked mound of your nipple. You bowed into his touch, refrained from allowing your fingers to settle into his carefully groomed hair as he circled the ice around your areola, taking care not to allow the cold wetness to touch the sensitive bud of your nipple. “God, James.” You whined, luxuriating in his bodily warmth that settled into your skin from his close proximity a top you, an invigorating contrast to the frigid touch of the ice. James let out a small groan of his own as he moved over to your other tit, pushing the ice in looping circles at the base of your breast and slowly moving them inwards, his circles getting tighter and tighter until you could feel the coldness radiating off the ice on your nipple. You hadn’t noticed when one of his hands lifted from your hip, too lost in the sensations your sensitive skin was pleasurably subjected to, the loss of his large hand not registering. It was only when he moved the sparse material of your panties to one side, placing another shard of ice directly on your clit, when you gasped in surprise. He held it there for several moments, allowing the ice to thoroughly cool the glistening bud before trailing it down to your opening. You groaned loudly when he pressed the ice against your entrance, inserting it into you and pushing it deep with a single finger. “Fuck.” You hissed, James withdrawing his finger and replacing the material of your panties back in their proper position, ensuring that the ice was held into you by the close fit of your underwear. You squirmed under him, your nails digging into his jacket-clad shoulders, much to James’ delight, who continued to swirl the ice cube caught between his teeth across your skin, goosebumps raising across every inch of your chest in lieu of his ministrations.  Pulling away, James looked at you, your eyes flicking down to meet his as he moved slowly up to your face. You shuddered when he lifted a hand to your chest, running his rough fingertip through the trails of wetness he had made. Your eyes flicked to his wet lips, the soft flesh glittering in the candle light as he lowered his mouth to yours, depositing the ice cube between your own lips. The coldness settled onto your tongue as you accepted his offering, pushing it up with your tongue to catch it between your own teeth. “Keep that there until it melts.” You groaned in response to his lowly spoken words, his touches on you so erotic that your pussy clenched around the ice in your cunt, which had started to burn pleasantly between your legs. Reaching down, his cool fingers hooked into the waist line of your panties, James’ eyes flicking to yours once more he pulled them down your legs in one smooth motion. The tip of your tongue nudged against the ice between your teeth, wishing that it was James’ mouth or cock you were tasting as the steadily melting water dripped slowly down the length of your tongue, settling in the back of your throat. The thought pulled a low rumble from deep within you. It was matched by James kneeling between your legs as he pulled apart your cool lips, surveying the mixture of ice water and your own juices that glimmered there. “Magnificent.” He breathed, the war, exhaled air making you whimper quietly as it settled onto your cold skin. He hummed lowly, reaching out his tongue and nudging at your clit. You tensed at the tiny touch, letting out a breathy sigh when he pulled away once more. “Please.” You moaned, the ice in your mouth muffling the word slightly. James chuckled. “Like I said, darling, patience is detrimental.” You groaned, wiggling your hips in the hopes of inviting him to touch you with his tongue again. “But look at how pretty your cunt is.” Your mind emptied at his crooned words, what was left of the ice cube slipping from your opening and falling to the floor as your pussy pulsated in response to the growled appraisal. “I wonder if its as delicious as I’ve dreamt it to be.” His words settled over you, causing even more wetness to leak from your slit. James purred at the sight, closing the inch of space between your cunt and his nose and finally drawing a long, slow sweep of his cold tongue up your centre.  “Yes.” You groaned, your back lifting of the table as his hand settled onto your lower abdomen, holding your hips still as he buried his face into you, unleashing himself with ravenous intent on your clit. You mewled with pleasure, the sudden barrage of his tongue on your clit sending strong jolts of satisfaction through the entirety of your body.  “Oh god.” You moaned, breathless as James continued to lap at your cunt, sucking and nipping at your clit. His fingertips nudged at your entrance and you attempted to push your hips up into them in encouragement, James’ chuckle at your efforts causing you to gasp and fall limp under him as it rumbled through your pussy. He pushed two fingers in, curling them instantly and expertly brushing the rough pads of his fingertips against the spot hidden within you that had your toes curling. The ice in your mouth continued to melt as a result of your heavy, warm pants, the water dripping down your throat as James continued to work you with his tongue and fingers, his tongue still cold on your pussy from the ice and his fingers warm in dizzying contrast. You moaned his name. James’ cock twitched in response, his name falling from your lips fuelling him to push another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you at a steady pace whilst his tongue worked tirelessly on your clit, each stroke, circle and carefully calculated nudge of his tongue ripping away a layer of the ball of pleasure in your gut, the orgasm hidden at its centre his goal. The ice fell from your teeth, its body too small now to hold onto and settling into the pocket of your cheek where it quickly melted away into nothingness. “James. Yes, yes, yes. James.” A wave of heat rolled through you as your release neared, James’ fingers quickening their pace in your pussy as his tongue maintained its steady lapping at your wetness. “I’m - James...” He detached his tongue from you at the desperation of your words.  “Yes, darling?” He purred, slowing the pace of his fingers, waiting for you to say the words that he had waited years for you to say to him. “I’m gonna cum.” A feral grin spread across James’ wet lips, his fingers once again quickening their pace, curling and twisting within you. Lowering his lips back to your cunt, he listened as a string of continuous moans fell from your lips, knowing that you would come undone as soon as he began licking at you again. James savoured the feeling of his tongue running across your clit and he finished you off, your body bowing entirely off the table as your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands as a wave of considerable pleasure slammed into you. His name was a drawn out moan on your lips as he licked you several more times, helping you through the orgasm that had your eyes rolling and your toes curling. Your thighs clenched deliciously around his head, James’ own moan of satisfaction vibrating through the electrified surface of your pussy. When your body collapsed back onto the table, the pupils of your eyes re-emerging with a gasp, James gripped onto your thighs, pulling his head from your heat and gazing upon your sated body, the scent of your arousal drifting up to meet him from between your thighs. You glanced down, the sight of his swollen lips coated with your cum causing a ball of fresh need to form in your lower abdomen. “Fuck me, James. Please.” You blurted, having recovered quickly from your previous orgasm and craving more of the glorious man before you. He laughed darkly, releasing his grip on your thighs and stepping back to survey your body splayed out before him, your cum running from your slit down to the exposed bud of your asshole.  His full erection strained from within the confines of his pants and you groaned at the sight of it, your mouth watering for the feeling of his cock in your mouth. “No, not yet, my dear. Can’t have you feeling too much all at once now can we? You’ll have to wait. We have all of eternity as our disposal, why rush?”  taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler (if you wanna be added or removed just let me know <3)

[yunahosk]

psychic staring effect | yan childe x reader

i wrote this when i was tired and had no idea where the story was going to go. had some trouble translating too >.<

this is sort of like a modern au but only because it involves google and a phone.

warnings: stalking, sayings like ‘someone is behind you.’

psychic staring effect:  the psychic staring effect (sometimes called scopaesthesia) is a supposed phenomenon in which humans detect being stared at by extrasensory means.

how to tell if you’re being watched

“This is stupid.” The words laced with annoyance come from your mouth as you glare at the typed in words sitting in Google’s search bar. A sigh of defeat releases and you lean back against the frame of the bed.

That stupid feeling. It’s like your brain is telling you you’re stupid for even thinking such things in the first place, but at the same time is the one alerting you that such things aren't normal. Waking up with an indent on the opposite side of the bed, hearing two sets of feet tap against the pavement as you walk when it should only be one, leaving the shower and seeing hearts on the steamy mirror.

It's been awhile since you visited the Northland Bank, a trip that was only meant to help your friend ask for a loan and to give you reason to leave the house. However, the trip only cemented your commitment to staying home. After that trip, you swear you can see a figure always lurking behind you, though when the chance comes to get a glance at the mystery, the culprit reveals itself to be, well no one.

You feel like an idiot even thinking such things in first place, its obvious: nothing is there. Nothing at all. But it’s a feeling you can’t shake off. Unexplainable things are happening, finding a large bag of mora on your kitchen counter doesn’t just happen, though when searching for the culprit there is nothing but your own shadow behind you only helping to convince you that you’re slowly going insane.

It’s been like this for months. Something you can’t simply shake off. 

Though, whether you should convince yourself it’s all a hallucination or that the gut feeling inside you is true, that's a decision for when the time comes. Instead, you choose to set it aside for the night in an attempt to get some much needed rest after a long day.

It’s a reoccurring dream. One that seems to end so fast yet when you wake up hours later it proves to be the contrast.

In the dream you find yourself standing in a bathroom, staring at the loading search screen on the phone below you. A feeling of panic is in your body but you’ve never found what the cause of such a feeling was. Someone is behind you, you know it. But the most you’ve ever seen of him is a single red earring. That’s the only glimpse you can ever get of the mystery man, for when you turn your head to identify the person you find the scenario ending just as fast as it started. 

Your eyes open in the same place you were before: the comfort of your own bed.

 A sigh comes from your mouth as you roll over, smothering a pillow over your head with a groan. “Dammit!” You yell into the pillow, quickly removing it and throwing it to the side. You lay still, staring at the ceiling above you before reaching your hand out to grasp your phone.

Curiosity always gets the best of you. And it’s evident as you quickly type away at the screen.

who are the people in our dreams

Our mind is not inventing faces – in our dreams, we see real faces of real people that we have seen during our life but may not know or remember.

You’ve lived in Liyue your whole life, never traveled out of the land and practically know everyone in Liyue Harbor like the back of your hand. But, you can’t pinpoint a red earring. You swear you’ve seen it before but no one comes to mind.

“Someone you may not know.” You mutter to yourself, perking an eyebrow at the screen.

That is the most logical explanation, but even something about that irks you. Why would someone so irrelevant like a stranger, be so present in your dreams?

You had met him a few weeks ago. He had claimed to be a toy seller from Sneznhaya, an unusual occupation for a man carrying around a bow and arrow, however you put no question towards it.  A kind man he was, always doing lavish things for you, helping you with hard commissions, and letting you ramble upon him. And that's just what you were doing as you find yourself rambling onto him right now. 

“Look, it just feels like someone's been watching me, even on the way here I swear I could just feel it,” You state to your friend, Tartaglia, leaning against the counter as he prepares snacks “a-and I swear someone is watching me but whenever I turn there's no one there!” 

“You’re probably just imagining things, I’m sure you’re just stressed with everything going on.” He hummed, glancing up from the food he was preparing to raise an eyebrow at your current predicament.

“But that doesn’t explain hearts on the bathroom mirror! Or even a bag of mora on my counter!” You ramble in distress, resting you chin on your hand.

“Maybe your secret admirer is a ghost?” He laughs.

“Tartaglia!” You groan, glancing up with a glare.

“Ok, ok! It’s probably just left from when your niece visited. You’re fine! As for the mora, well maybe you just misplaced it?” He smiles, turning around to grab a bowl.

Your breath tightens at his words. When did Tartaglia get word you had a niece? You've known each other for only a few weeks at most. You last saw her some months ago.

He turns around at the sudden silence, his blue eyes narrowing with a playful smile as he regards your body language intently, holding his gaze for almost too long. Quickly pulling yourself together you force out a laugh.

“A-ahaha! You’re probably right, I do misplace things easily!” You laugh, trying to play it off. He stayed silent in response, simply staring at you as if he was trying to analyze something.

“Indeed.” He stated, turning around once again to continue his previous task.

“Your house is really nice, you must make a good living to get a home with a view of the shore.” You smiled, trying to ease the tension in the room. Leaning off the counter you make your way across the room towards the large window that displayed the ocean before you. 

“It’s worth the view, I’d say.” He chuckled, glancing from the kitchen to your figure across the room. You smile, glancing down at the window sill decorated with small trinkets.

“You didn’t tell me you collected starconches.” You chuckled, trying to keep the conversation as if nothing happened seconds ago.

“I need to take you down to the beach sometime soon, it’s beautiful this time of season to collect shells.” Tartaglia hummed. As you analyzed the row of seashells your eyes made contact with a familiar red gem.

Your eyes widened, staring down at the earring. The earring in your dreams.

“Definitely! Hey, um I have to go to the bathroom, what direction is it?” You turned around, reaching for the phone in your pocket. He paused, turning around with a smile and staring at you, his gaze lasting a tad too long for normal and humming.

“Just around the corner!” He smiled, and you followed just that.

There's a familiar feeling to the one you've grown used to these past months. Knowing your being watched. Feeling the gaze of eyes on your figure from afar.

And as you walk away from Tartaglia you feel just that.

Your eyebrows furrow as you enter the small room, your breathing becoming more rapid by the minute, as you desperately seek answers to the question that has been weighing on your mind ever since seeing the red gem. Pulling out your phone you tap your thumbs rapidly against the screen.

can dreams predict our future

Waiting for the results load, your breathing accelerates, panic setting in. Letting your hand touch the granite on the counter, you pause. Realization hits you as you realize you have experienced this feeling in your dreams. 

The panic in your dream. 

Reaching for your phone with shaking hands, you pick up the device now with text present. As you scan the top result, your breath quickens as you do a double take of the words before you.

Precognitive dreams, in simple terms, are any dreams that give you information about the future you wouldn't otherwise have.

You can feel it.

You can feel the stare.

Someone’s behind you.

The weight change on your shoulder becomes evident as you feel hot breath hitting your neck. When you slowly raise your head to look in the mirror you find yourself frozen in fear.

Red hair and blue eyes stare back at you as a red gem dangles from his ear, his chin rests on your shoulder, glancing down at your phone.

“How cute, you've been dreaming of me?”

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (May 5/2021) -              He’s Back

Now that Wilbur’s returned, it’s about time he got a look around the server to see what he’s missed since he’s been gone. Tommy gives him a tour.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

Philza

Tommyinnit

Wilbur Soot

Skeppy

Captain Puffy

Foolish

---

- Ponk continues work on the supreme fridge in the desert

- Sam logs on to call Ponk handsome. Ponk replies that Punz isn’t online.

- Foolish logs on. 

Sam: Don’t ignore my messages ponk

Ponk: Hey, Foolish qt pie

Foolish: Oohhh ponk :)

Sam: He isn’t as cute as me :)

- Sam lands in front of Ponk as he’s watering the concrete. 

Ponk: “Oh, he’s gonna take my other arm!”

- Sam calls Ponk handsome again and hands him steak. Ponk tosses Sam the picture of Coraline’s mother

- Sam tells Ponk that he’s been doing squats and starts twerking to demonstrate

- Ponk shoves Sam off the fridge. When Sam survives, Ponk figures his booty helped save him from the fall, as Sam comments that the weight sent him falling too fast for him to MLG

- Ponk compliments Sam, saying his eyes are glowing like the stars in the ocean

Sam: It’s because I looked at you

Sam: :)

- Ponk and Sam watch the sunrise together. 

- They talk about Coraline’s mother. Ponk says that she is attractive...but not as attractive as Foolish. Sam immediately jumps off the fridge and runs away

Sam: you don’t got me atm. So it does matter.

Sam: I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

- Sam logs off

- Ranboo hires a mercenary Enderman to kill KSI

- Tommy meets with Wilbur at L’manhole

- Wilbur tells Tommy that all his memories are coming back. He remembers that Friend isn’t Tommy’s sheep but his own. 

- Wilbur wants Tommy to show him around to see what he’s missed. He takes Friend along despite Tommy worrying that Friend could die (”Who cares about a sheep, man? It’s just a sheep.”)

- Wilbur’s made some plans, debated with himself what to do now, and tells Tommy that he’s sorry. It may be hard to believe, but Wilbur’s turned over a new leaf! He feels great now and wants to apologize to people.

- Wilbur is in his forties now and asks how old Tommy is -- twenties, thirties? 

- First off, Tommy shows Wilbur Schlatt’s grave. Wilbur asks to see his own grave to see what people said about him. Tommy shows him L’manhole. Wilbur didn’t get a grave, only what he left behind.

- Wilbur sees Karl’s house (which he remembers), the Big Innit Hotel (which he doesn’t) and says he does remember a bit about the prison from Ghostbur’s memories of it.

- Skeppy comes walking past and they speak with him. Wilbur apologizes to Skeppy for not appreciating his trolling. Skeppy kills Friend by accident. He skepped all over Friend. 

- Skeppy runs away and asks Bad if tridents are like swords in terms of damage. Bad asks what he killed and learns that it was a blue sheep. Skeppy puts the trident in an Ender Chest. Bad warns Skeppy that he may have inadvertently started the next war, and Skeppy ends stream

- Wilbur comes across the invisible staircase and Tommy shows him the McPuffy’s. He asks about Karl. Last Wilbur remembered, Karl was an enemy of his, but has he changed? Tommy says he hasn’t seen Karl around much.

- They reach the hotel and Jack Manifold is standing at the desk. He and Tommy get into a shouting match but Wilbur is excited to see Jack. Jack welcomes him inside and Wilbur waits in one of the suites as Tommy and Jack argue in another room, listening in.

- Tommy takes him up to the roof. There, Tommy tells him about coming up with the plan there to murder Dream in the prison. 

Wilbur: “I’ve seen it all, you’ve had your little strifes -- this isn’t the first, right, Tommy. Tommy, do you remember when you got sent into exile? Yeah, I remember. I was there, Tommy. I was there. I was there -- I was in the cage of that little ghost’s fucking head. Every single step you and me took -- look at me, Tommy, look me in the eyes -- every single step me and you took, I was there -- I was there! I had no control of what was happening, I’ve no idea what was being said, but Tommy -- I’ll tell you what -- if I was there, and it wasn’t that stupid shell of a ghost instead of me...I would’ve struck down Dream right where he stood. We would’ve disemboweled him. We would’ve disemboweled him together.”

“Tommy, I’m not -- I wasn’t blind, I saw what he was doing to you, Tommy. I saw. I saw what he was doing to Tubbo -- I saw what he was doing to me. But you know what, Tommy? I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there, was I. We had Ghostbur. Ghostbur was there instead, right. And you know what the issue is, you know what the issue is? After seeing Ghostbur interact with Dream, I realized that no, Dream is not the enemy -- Dream is not the enemy!”

“This world was not supposed to be inhabited by a people of this caliber -- Dream is the hero! Dream needs to be let out of here! Dream’s not in prison for being a horrible person, Dream’s in prison because he dared to try and stop you all. He dared to try and stop you all from gaining all this power, because the minute I was gone, there was a vacuum, there was opening, and everyone just seeked to get in there! And Dream was the only one who stood up to them and told them not to, Dream was the only one who held my seat for me. He held my -- he kept it warm! He kept my throne warm, and you guys didn’t like that, so you threw him in prison! And if Dream died instead of me, I would be in there right now.”

“So Tommy, you should thank that I wasn’t alive to attack Dream when we got exiled! You should be glad we had little, passive Ghostbur, because now Dream’s in there, and I’m out here, baby.”

- Wilbur heads back down to speak with Jack Manifold. He tells Jack that he’s sorry that he didn’t grant freedom to Manifoldland, sorry that he led Jack into war, sorry that he denied Jack access to the election, sorry that he left Jack behind. Jack is a little surprised, but he thanks him and Wilbur and Tommy leave the hotel. 

Tommy: “Wil, just look at me for a second. The reason we started L’manburg, and everything here, was because we knew -- together, me and you, the duo -- together we knew that Dream was the villain. He was the one holding this server down. He was the dictator! ‘Cause you’re telling me even then, you think...you think Dream was the hero?”

Wilbur: “Tommy, I’ve made an oath of not lying now that I’m alive again. So I’m gonna come clean to you with the truth. Uh...one thing, I didn’t actually care about L’manburg, I just cared about -- you know, sticking it to the man. Actually, I cared about L’manburg for the sole reason that I could use it to stick it to the man. You ever sticked it to the man, Tommy?”

“L’manburg was a tool. It was a great tool, it worked, you know. It divided so many people, man. Listen, Tommy, and in my oath of not lying I’m gonna tell you know -- Tommy, I’m sorry for a couple things, to each of these people on the server. I’m sorry to a lot of them -- except for Phil, I’ve nothing to apologize to Phil for. Phil’s done nothing wrong. But to the rest of them, I’m sorry for a lot of things -- but Tommy, that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try again.”

- Tommy is confused. L’manburg was Wilbur’s unfinished symphony, how could he not care about it? Wilbur says maybe it wasn’t the right wording, he did care about L’manburg, but for the “wrong reasons.” 

- Wilbur asks to see the museum (though Tommy was going to take him to the Egg). They make it to the museum and Wilbur is excited to see the hto dog van as Tommy continues to protest.

Tommy: “It was like we were a family! You can’t just say that!”

Wilbur: “We were family, Tommy! ...We were. But you know what? You just -- you just didn’t -- I guess you didn’t have the balls to follow along with me. When I pressed the button, you were always against -- we’re leaving it behind, Tommy. It’s in the past--”

Tommy: “You blew up our fucking home!”

Wilbur: “We’re friends now. We’re friends.”

Tommy: “I don’t want to be your friend! You’re annoying and I hate you and you’re ugly and you have a gray hair and I bet you twirl it round and use the dog filter--”

Wilbur: “You’re following me an awful lot for someone who doesn’t care.”

- Wilbur notices the Ranboo My Beloved poster on the wall. He remembers Ranboo as a good man. Tommy says he is, and that he sees potential in him.

- They call Ranboo so that Wilbur can properly meet him. Wilbur says he’s sorry to him. He wanted to get to know Ranboo better, ‘pick his brain.’ Ranboo never met Wilbur in person.

- What nation is Ranboo a part of, who does he align himself with? Ranboo says all of them -- he chooses people, not nations.

Wilbur: “Okay, so -- let’s go an say, so there must be someone bad on the server right, there’s gotta be a bad guy on the server and who --”

Ranboo: “Yeah. Dream, yeah.”

- Wilbur goes quiet for a moment. He then asks what Ranboo stands for. Ranboo says people.

Wilbur: “What ‘people?’ What people? You can’t just stand for people! People are good and bad!”

- Ranboo lists the people he sides with. There are quite a few.

Wilbur: “Everyone? Everyone but Dream, everyone but the one bad guy everyone’s supposed to hate.”

- Wilbur accuses Ranboo of being a “schmoozer.” Ranboo's philosophy is, if someone hasn’t wronged him or the people he cares about, he has no quarrel with them.

- Wilbur says that’s fine in a perfect world, but there are wars that get fought. Ranboo says the server’s been quiet ever since Dream was put in prison and there have been fewer wars since Wilbur died -- to which Wilbur asks if Ranboo is against him in the same way he’s against Dream.

- Wilbur says goodbye to Ranboo, saying that they might get to know each other better in time. Wilbur leaves with Tommy to continue the tour, telling him that Ranboo’s just a follower. 

- Tommy gets angry and tells Wilbur off for being a nuisance, for making him feel like a ghost when Wilbur should be the ghost. They decide to fight, with weapons but no armor. 

- They fight in the Holy Land and Tommy defeats him. Wilbur says, though, that he’s already won no matter what. No matter what happens next, he won when he pressed the button.

- He asks to see Phil. Phil sent him a whole backlog of letters, including ones about things Tommy can’t know about. 

- They arrive at the Arctic and Wilbur remembers this place, remembers finding Friend here. Wilbur reunites with Phil and Wilbur is thrilled by the cottages.

- Wilbur thanks Phil for killing him and tells him the whole bit of what would’ve happened if he’d been there instead of Ghostbur.

- Tommy tells Wilbur that what led to him getting exiled was griefing George’s house with Ranboo. Ranboo didn’t get exiled because Tommy stood up for him -- to which Wilbur asks if Ranboo didn’t stand up for Tommy, letting Tommy get thrown under the bus.

- Phil asks about the lies in the letters. Wilbur tells him that he’s not lying anymore, and he lied in the letters because it’s like writing back from a summer camp -- he didn’t want to tell Phil that everything was going horribly. 

- Wilbur’s made plans, and when they’re ready, Phil will be the first to know. He also asks Phil if he can stay with him for a bit, as he has no house. He also needs a shower.

- Phil agrees to let Wilbur stay despite Tommy protesting, and Wilbur and Tommy leave.

- Ranboo comes over to ask Phil how it went. Phil was skeptical, but it seems like Wilbur’s changed for the better, and that Wilbur spoke highly of Ranboo. As for Ranboo, he says it seems like Wilbur isn’t as bad as people said he was. 

- Phil talks about killing Wilbur and what Wilbur said about it.

- For Wilbur’s plan, he needs lots of stone. Wilbur leaves Tommy at the Nether Portal to go get stone and speak with Phil.

- Phil gives Tommy several stacks of stone. 

- Wilbur says he’ll be “back in the saddle” soon, that he can rebuild. He still doesn’t know how he was revived, but the first thing he saw when he got back was a chest.

- At the shrine, Wilbur opens the chest and reads the “PROJECT NEVADAS” book Quackity left for him. His old rival, his kinsman. 

Wilbur: “Chat, power isn’t won through diplomacy. Power isn’t won through waiting, patiently, floating courthouses in the sky, blah blah blah...it’s won through blades. Swords. Iron...”

“And I was right all along.”

- Tommy leaves Phil and Ranboo for a bit and they continue to talk about Wilbur, whether he’s changed, whether he’s even telling the truth about the afterlife and if even Dream can change.

- When Ranboo mentions that he may have to keep some secrets, Phil asks about the experiments. Ranboo reiterates that they’re just to build resistance, like when a wound heals over stronger. He assures Phil that he’ll be careful.

- Ranboo then leaves to go stand in a corner somewhere for a bit. He doesn’t sleep much, and if Phil ever sees him walking around staring at random things, it’s nothing to worry about

- Tommy goes mining for stone with Mediashare

- Captain Puffy works on the graveyard. She reads the Wiki page for Sally the Salmon and makes some horrible discoveries. She later finds out the Samsung Refrigerator has its own page as well and spends some time learning about the canon family tree.

- She then makes the gravestones and fills out the history books for each of the dead members, including a spot for Ghostbur behind Wilbur’s headstone with his final words.

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[modern-vellichor]

Heyyy! I really like your writing!! Can i maybe suggest an idea? 👉🏻👈🏻

So it’s buckyxf!reader. She is an ex-avenger, and his closest friend left after Steve’s gone. She checks up on him every once in a while to make sure he’s fine. And he’s absolutely in love with her: no one knows him like she does, no one understands him like she does, no one makes him feel the way she does. But he thinks that she’s too good for him and she spends time with him just because she’s kind or she feels like she has to and the last thing he wants is to lose her as a friend. Anyway, eventually he accidentally says sth like how beautiful or amazing she is and he thinks he royally fucked up but she’s being super sweet about it and everything turns out really well

Bonus points if a reader is very confident badass type rather than classical ray-of-sunshine-type :))))

I love writing stuff like this

“Barnes!” 

You pounded on the door to Bucky’s apartment. Bucky shot up, suddenly awake. He rushed to the door, checking through the peephole before letting you in. You smirked at him, eyes raking up and down his figure unashamedly. 

“Woah, it’s my lucky day,” you pushed past Bucky into his apartment.

Bucky had been asleep of the floor. He rushed to throw a pair of sweatpants on, stumbling into his kitchen after you. You packed groceries into his fridge.

“You been eating?”

You always did this, asking constant questions during your visits. Checking up on him once a week. You were the only person Bucky ever called, other than his therapist. You were no longer an avenger. You had always been friendly and kind, and Bucky appreciated having civilian friends. You made him feel normal.

“Yeah.”

“And drinking enough water?” Bucky nodded, and you spotted the blankets on the floor next to the couch. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks. Anyway,” Bucky liked how you never dwelled on his issues. “Ever considered getting a harder mattress? Maybe you can find one of those prison beds, like the ones that are made of steel and hang from walls.”

Your soft laugh lifted all the weight from Bucky’s shoulders. You understood him. You knew that Bucky liked you because you were ‘regular’. He liked you because you acted normal around him. You never addressed the face that he was a serial murderer, or his past. You never asked about therapy, or if he was talking to Sam.

You waltzed into his apartment, made yourself at home and began to rant about Helen from HR, or Zack who sat across from you at work. The two of you went on walks, and for coffee dates. You made jokes and laughed, and made Bucky feel alright.

It was during one of your visits that you and Bucky spent the night in. Your jacket - an old leather jacket of Steve’s, one that you wore everywhere - was flung over the back of a chair. Bucky’s dog tags clinked around your neck as you danced around the kitchen. You and Bucky were cooking dinner, the both of you already a little wine drunk. You had swapped dog tags after the first glass, your own tags swinging from Bucky’s neck.

Dinner had been eaten already, the dishes washed, dried, and packed away. Old rock music played through the radio on the windowsill, and the two of you danced. 

Bucky stopped to watch you. God, he was smitten. You invaded his every sense, his every thought. He loved you, you were engraved in his bones. His heart swelled, seeing his name hang from your chest. 

“What are you staring at Barnes?”

You were so independent, Bucky had never known you to be otherwise. He had watched you crush men’s heads between your thighs. He had seen you smile with blood stained teeth, despite the fact that you were bloody and bruised. He had been on the receiving end of your not-so-empty threats.

“You,” he muttered slowly, adoration seeping in his voice.

“Why? There are nicer things to stare at,” you scoffed playfully.

“You’re just so pretty,” the words fell from his lips before he could stop himself. Bucky’s eyes went wide.

You were silent for a moment. And then you laughed, loud and free. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.

“I think it’s time for bed. Will I take the couch?”

“No,” Bucky sighed. “Take the bed.”

Bucky woke to the smell of fresh coffee and bacon. You were leaning against his table, coffee in hand, watching him sleep.

“Creep,” he mumbled.

Bucky stumbled into the kitchen, pouring his own coffee. Bucky noticed his tags still around your neck. He reached out to grab them, they were his. The shirt you were wearing was his too.

“You sleep with these on?” He mumbled. You nodded. “Jesus, wearing my tags, and my shirt. Sleeping in my bed, might as well be a couple,” he joked halfheartedly. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, staring intently at Bucky.

“Listen, about last night-”

“Did you mean it?” You sipped your coffee nonchalantly. Bucky sighed.

“Yes.”

You laughed gently. You lifted your hand to caress Bucky’s cheek softly. Bucky blushed but made no move to hide it.

“Darling, I know I’m pretty.”

You stood up on your toes, placing your mug onto the table. Your hands fisted in Bucky’s shirt, pulling him down so you could ghost your lips over the shell of his ear. You chuckled sultrily.

“We’d make one hell of a couple,” you whispered. 

Bucky finally pulled away as you both howled out laughing. You clutched your stomach and Bucky shook as you both chuckled. Bucky was just as in love as he was before, if not more. But now, with a new glint in his eye, he thought maybe you loved him too.

[hualianff]

Vampire/Human AU

(Slight NSFW, angst)

Thinking about vampire HC who owns a vampire-friendly bar with humans who apply as donors to supply fresh blood for vampires willing to pay the expensive prices. When a human with beautiful amber eyes, soft facial features, and blood that smells absolutely delectable, walks in, every vampire whips their heads towards the door. The human approaches one of the staff, YY, to inquire about becoming a donor. HC watches as the enticing morsel follows YY into a room to finalize his application.

Right after the human leaves thirty minutes later–YY probably having said it would take a few days to find him a match–HC pulls YY aside, demanding to have a look over the papers the new donor filled out. After a quick scan, HC shoves the papers back to YY with a click of his tongue,

“No need to find him a match. He’s mine.”

A human whose blood smells heavenly, who has never been bitten or even nipped by a vampire. HC wants to corrupt him. Ruin him.

The next night, HC has the human, XL, meet him in his personal feeding room. There’s a luxurious velvet couch to the side, a pristine glass table with fancy wine and glasses, and a king-sized bed with crimson silk laid upon the mattress.

HC, like most vampires, typically feeds while stimulating their donors. This can be done with something as simple as kissing or full-on intercourse. Not only does this relax the human’s nerves so they won’t tense up before being bitten, but the toxins injected into their system after being bitten feels incredibly euphoric, serving as a kind of aphrodisiac. Many humans donate their blood in this way for the sole reason of attaining this heightened sense of pleasure.

But as soon as XL enters the room in front of HC, his mind freezes as he sees the bed.

“I’m a virgin,” he blurts out, wide eyes panicked as he looks at the vampire. HC raises his eyebrow, unperturbed.

“We can work with that.”

XL gulps.

“I’ve also never kissed anyone.”

HC runs a tongue along his sharp fangs.

“Do you want to change that?” The vampire asks, walking up behind the human, pressing his chest against XL’s back. HC hears XL’s heart rate pick up at the proposition. It’s an unspoken yes, though XL also imperceptibly nods his head. He does not see HC’s lips spread into a vicious grin. However, XL does feel lips brush against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“Use your words, precious. Do you want to be kissed? Want to be touched, experience pleasure beyond comprehension?” HC murmurs, skimming his lips across XL’s nape. “I can fuck you too. Push into your little body as I sink my fangs into your neck. I’d place them right here-“ HC taps XL’s jugular, the human jerking to the side with a gasp. “-oh? So sensitive. All the better. I can make you feel so good.”

XL’s breath quickens, ever so slightly leaning back into HC’s tall frame. HC leans forward to catch a glimpse of those doe eyes regarding him with caution. Oh, how he wants to eat this human alive. HC turns XL around by his shoulders. He lowers his head to bump foreheads with XL, forcing the human to look into his red-tinged eyes.

“Is that a yes?”

XL blinks those doe eyes once, then twice.

“Yes.”

HC brings his hand up to brush a hair away from the human’s head.

“Wonderful.”

***

XL is at the point in his life when he lost everything. He chose to pursue a career outside of his parents’ embroidery business despite being expected to take over the shop after college. Abandoning college altogether, XL went off on his own to chase his dream to become a singer.

A few years later, where XL was provinces away from home, XL’s parents’ business had gone under, devastating them as they could no longer pay for their medical bills. Upon hearing the news, XL rushed back home to take care of them. It seemed they had kept their declining health conditions under wraps. They were too prideful to admit their weakening physical states; they also did not want to guilt XL into giving up on his ambitions to take care of them.

XL’s parents lasted one year before passing away, his father first due to prostate cancer, his mother one month later after succumbing to exhaustion and grief. XL lost their home along with the shop merely a week later, unable to pay off the debt. His parents had used up their savings for their medical expenses and XL had been scraping by as a musician for years. Additionally, there was no one he could confide in. He had lost contact with his friends as he moved from city to city, busking on streets, attempting to catch the attention of music labels.

XL was utterly alone. There were days when not even music could bring an ounce of comfort. However, music was the thing that kept him sane between the various side jobs he managed to pick up to keep him off the streets.

As if the fates decided XL had had enough bad luck for a lifetime, a CEO of a fairly well-known label offered him a business card after a busking session. It was JW of Capital Records who gave XL hope of achieving his dream. XL spent most of his late 20s under the label, training and practicing and producing. He had the chance to record a couple of singles and one mini-album–which he didn’t get to participate much in the production side–but other than that, XL didn’t make it far. He was tremendously overworked and yet, still discarded to the side.

Wondering why he wasn’t provided the opportunities other artists received to further their careers, XL scheduled a one-on-one meeting with the CEO to ask what he was lacking. JW had insisted he could give XL more opportunities if XL could offer something more than just his serene vocals and pretty face.

The unspoken suggestion that XL offer up his body pierced his heart with yet another stake. Overwhelming disappointment and betrayal crashed into XL, but perhaps he should have known better that the whole situation was too good to be true. XL vehemently rejected this idea, angering JW who eventually tore XL down to the point of a medical emergency that allowed him to leave the agency without repercussions.

At age thirty-two, XL was left with no family, mental and physical trauma, and a dying will. Ironically enough, the song lyrics he’d written after experiencing so much loss were the closest thing to making music he’d gotten. But in the end, XL still felt like a failure.

Now in Xi’an, XL was left with limited options to earn money for rent. He already worked two part-time jobs in addition to writing music—though even time set aside for this has dwindled.

One night, as XL was walking home after closing up the convenience store, he saw the neon lights of the sign “Ghost City.” He’s heard many things about this club and is no stranger to the existence of nonhuman creatures roaming amongst human society. After hours of research, XL decided to apply to become a blood donor. It’s not like he had a better option that paid more anyway.

XL’s hope to somehow redeem his past actions has all but fizzled out. He doesn’t expect a vampire like HC to care about his comfort or consent when feeding, though HC still prioritizes these things for some reason.

XL has never looked at his body and thought about the best ways to pleasure himself. HC shows him how. HC caresses and kisses XL like he’s worth being handled with care; HC also invades XL’s body as a threat to break it, broadcasting a vampire’s strength, speed, and endurance in the bedroom.

XL can go as far as to say he even looks forward to his time with HC. In between a busy work life and dealing with people who would rather look the other way than give him the time of day, XL’s mind and body steadily weaken.

It starts with memory loss, where XL can’t clearly remember the conversations he’d had the day before. One of the reasons this develops is because he goes through many days without having anyone to tell about his day. It’s like the life XL lives is so insignificant, nothing about it is worth remembering.

Then, it’s the lack of eating. Most of XL’s money goes towards rent, essentials, and groceries. But he’s not a great cook. And he’s already drained by the time he gets home after working both jobs and visiting Ghost City. XL’s stress doesn’t help, adding to the fatigue that gradually shuts his body down.

While HC might not be able to taste a difference in XL’s blood, he does notice how frail the human moves around. How delayed XL responds, more so than he should be–even as a human. XL has scheduled more visits: three times a week this time. However, his words become less. He stops telling the little stories that brought a small smile to his face. XL doesn’t even mention the songs he’s been working on lately.

HC forces himself to ask about them after an especially rough coupling.

“How’s the songwriting going, darling?” HC asks quietly. He props his elbow upon his pillow, resting his cheek on his hand as he intently observes the human struggling to catch his breath, eyelids fluttering.

“I haven’t written anything new,” XL breathily answers. HC purses his lips. He ducks down to affectionately tongue at the skin his fangs pierced.

“No? In how long?” HC asks. XL sighs heavily.

“Maybe three weeks.”

HC doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s not one to console anybody. No one had afforded him that luxury, and naturally, he did not grant anyone else his concern. The silence that follows is unbearable.

***

The next time XL visits, he’s the one to initiate their first kiss. HC growls happily against his human’s lips, pinning him against the closed door of his private room. XL moans obscenely as HC languidly licks into his mouth. His arms desperately wrap around HC’s neck to bring him closer.

“Someone’s eager,” HC says with a chuckle as he pulls back. XL instantly attaches his lips to the vampire’s jaw, peppering light kisses along the pale skin. HC can’t help but think he’s taught his little human well. XL hums while trailing his lips back to HC’s, capturing them in a kiss that’s the sweetest one yet.

HC should’ve noticed how unstable XL’s legs seemed, how dreadful the bags under his eyes looked before indulging in their bedroom activities. He should’ve kept track all along of how thin XL is, how much more skin and bone he had become. HC is certainly not one to intrude on someone else’s life and scrutinize all their choices. But he should’ve said something sooner.

Maybe then, XL’s heart wouldn’t have stuttered so violently, or completely stopped beating for five counts.

HC watches in horror as XL’s eyes roll into the back of his head. His human’s body goes limp in his arms, collapsing into HC’s chest. When XL’s heart beat starts up again, it’s very weak. There’s a noticeable abnormality in its rhythm.

HC quickly gathers XL in his arms and speeds to the bed. He sits back against the pillow, placing XL to recline against his front. HC hooks his arms around XL’s middle from behind, anxiously listening to XL’s irregular heartbeat that seems like it takes all of his human’s energy to pump. Luckily, XL awakens a few minutes later. He registers a cold embrace and warm puffs of breath lingering near his ear.

“Did I pass out?” XL wheezes out, unconsciously melting into the body behind him.

“Yes,” HC says tightly. “Your heartbeat is uneven. Something is wrong.”

XL can’t tell if he’s imagining it but that sounded like worry in the vampire’s tone.

“Oh.”

HC inhales sharply.

“You just fainted, Xie Lian. Hell, your heart just stopped for a few seconds, and all you have to say is ‘oh?’” HC grinds out.

So he is upset. XL swallows thickly, not wanting to escalate things and further upset the vampire.

“It’s okay,” XL says. “I’m okay-“

“No. You’re not,” HC interrupts.

XL takes a deep breath, wincing slightly as HC tightens his arms around his hips. He’s more sensitive than normal, XL realizes. Before XL can defend himself further, HC grasps XL’s chin and turns his head to face the vampire.

“You’re hiding something from me,” he states. He hears XL’s heart speed up. “There’s no use in lying. I can tell you’ve grown weaker since you first came.”

“Well, I have been donating my blood to a certain vampire for a few months now. I’m bound to be a bit weak in my legs,” XL replies as a matter of factly. He means to poke fun at the situation rather than acknowledge the severity of it. HC knows this because he’s done it numerous times himself. But when XL does it, it makes HC’s blood boil.

“Are you saying I am causing this- this deterioration in your health?” HC asks tensely. XL lets out a gasp, whirling around in HC’s arms, immediately backpedaling.

“No! No, not at all.”

HC’s eyes assess his human who trembles slightly in his arms. He cradles XL in between his legs, hands shifting XL further up his body so he can rest his head on HC’s chest. HC gently pets XL’s hair, an action that was uncharacteristic of him months ago, before XL had walked through the entrance of his bar.

XL gently smiles in an attempt to placate the vampire.

HC’s eyes flash a frightening scarlet.

“I don’t believe you.”

XL’s face crumples.

“It’s true! I’ve just been really busy is all. Work has been hectic and- and-“ gone is the innocence that HC once saw in XL’s doe eyes, instead replaced by stress and utter brokenness that alarms the vampire to no end. A voice in the back of HC’s head snarls that those emotions had always been behind XL’s eyes; they were simply better hidden, and HC had been too lust-driven to notice.

XL continues his rambling, frantically shaking his head. “-I took some extra shifts because I needed the money to pay for some water damage that flooded half my apartment. I’m fine—truly.“

If HC had a beating heart, it would have dropped down to his stomach at the sudden realization. His fingers dig into the paper-thin skin of XL’s hips, then trace up the bony knobs of his spine.

“You’re not eating right.”

“Wait- S-san Lang-“

The nickname HC had asked XL to call him is hurdled back into his face like a stone aimed to shatter. It sounds like a cry for help.

“And you’re not getting enough sleep,” HC concludes with a disapproving frown. His eyes now glow a deep crimson, matching the silken sheets that HC ensures are in perfect condition every time XL visits.

“Fuck, XIE LIAN, you know you need proper nutrition and rest to recover from each night you spend with me!” HC is nearly shouting now, voice wavering out of his control. Who knew another creature could make him feel so strongly?

“I-I am!”

“I SAID NOT TO LIE TO ME. I CAN TELL WHEN YOU’RE NOT BEING HONEST,” HC explodes, spatting those words with a poison that he often uses with uncooperative subordinates, but never directed at XL before.

Tears glisten in XL’s eyes as he’s cornered with no way out, no relief from the building pressure that suffocates him. Right now, after everything XL has been through, this seems to be his tipping point. He never expected HC to care this much. Or perhaps HC is just concerned his reliable supply of blood is flaking out on him, just when he’s had a feasible taste.

XL is sure HC has plenty of other donors to feed on. It’s not like XL is particularly special in that way. Frankly speaking, XL had time and time again asked the universe to give him one last sign that his life mattered in some capacity. But if he couldn’t see the value in his own life, who else could?

XL scrambles off from HC’s lap, allowing himself to speak with the deep-seated spite that has grown in his heart like an untamable weed.

“THERE’S NO NEED TO GET SO WORKED UP OVER MY HEALTH!! I’LL BE GONE SOON ANYWAY! THE DOCTOR GAVE ME THREE MORE MONTHS,” XL screams, having to catch his breath after exerting so much power into his voice. “So there. You have my answer. I’m not lying this time. Just one a couple more months and then- then you won’t have to deal with my shit anymore, okay?”

HC can’t move. He can’t speak either. The shock taking over his system renders his mind and body completely useless. He can only stare blankly at XL whose tears now cascade down his cheeks.  

No, this cannot be happening-

XL’s whimpers pull HC out of his head. The human hugs his own frail body, shivering from a coldness that does not exist in the room.

How did HC let it get so bad?

“I’m sick, San Lang. Very, very sick. Not just physically,” XL whispers defeatedly, letting out a small hiccup.

HC doesn’t hesitate to surge forward to throw his arms around XL, hugging him once more. It’s a habit now—to hold XL whenever he could. Now, HC wonders how many more times he would get this chance before it was inevitably the last.

“Xie Lian…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I-I just can’t eat. Sometimes from stress, other times I completely forget. And I want to rest, but I end up laying in bed awake for hours a-and my mind just won’t let me sleep-”

For the first time in over a decade, there is someone else to hear XL’s agonized wails.

“Please believe me, San Lang. Please."

[anna-justice]

like i’m gonna lose you

summary: my take on the fall out of 8x16.

read on a03 

...

“Get your hands off of me” 

Hailey stirred in her chair, her grip on Jay’s hand tightening a bit. They couldn’t bring themselves to care about appearances as they sat in the waiting room of MED, anxiously awaiting news on Kim. Hailey had dozed off on Jay’s shoulder pretty quickly, not that he minded. He was sure she had had a rough few hours, despite her vague responses. 

“You knew exactly what to expect when you came here.” 

There was a soft moan from beside him and Jay looked down to find his girlfriend’s eyebrows laced together. Her knee shook slightly, grabbing his attention. “Hailey?” He whispered, earning no response. 

“This is what it feels like.”

Hailey flinched hard in her sleep, her bottom lip beginning to quiver, Jay’s heart dropped into his stomach. She was having a nightmare. He shifted slightly, bringing his free hand to her hair and tightening his grip on her hand. “I’m here Hailes, come back to me.” He said softly in her ear as he ran his fingers through her hair. 

The movement startled her, causing her to flinch again. “I saw.” She muttered - still asleep - a stray tear falling down her cheek, “I saw-” Before Jay could react, she shot up, grabbing the attention of too many people around her. 

Jay’s hand immediately found her shoulder, “Hey, you’re good. It was just a dream, you’re safe.” He took note of the half nod she gave him, the fake smile, the way her blue eyes were clouded with tears. Hailey looked down at their intertwined hands, pulling hers close to her body. “Hailey?” He asked, a little hurt. 

She looked like she had seen a ghost, and honestly, she felt like she had. The only way to describe the feeling in the pit of her stomach was absolute terror: she was scared that Voight would walk through the sliding glass doors, she was scared of what she had become, she was scared of what Jay would think of her. She was absolutely terrified of the shell of a person he would leave behind when he finally came to his senses and walked away. “I-uh-I,” She stuttered, standing slowly, “I need some air.” She barely got the words out before running out of the building. 

Jay stood to follow her, he had always been good at giving her space, letting her handle things on her own first, but this was killing him. She was spiraling, he could see it. She had spotted it in him so many times before. He was sick of standing on the sidelines while she fought alone but she wouldn’t let him in, not this time. And as much as he wanted to be her husband, he knew the proposal was only a product of whatever the hell had happened, he just never got the chance to ask what that was. 

“I don’t want to be without you.” Hailey said, her sad eyes locked on his. He knew (or at least he thought he knew) what she was getting at. He remembered the way he felt when she was kidnapped, he remembers the panic that set in on her face when he was shot. 

Jay felt the tears forming in his own, squinting a bit. It almost wrecked him to see her like this, so scared of losing what they had. He understood, he felt the exact same way, but it was different. He knew that no one else had ever stayed for her, no one else every cared, and he was determined to be the one that did. “You’re not gonna be.” He said, because how the was he supposed to say everything that he tried to push into those 4 little words? How could he make her believe that she was it for him? 

Hailey searched his face for any sign of regret or inconsistency, but she found none. Somehow though, she still wasn’t one hundred perfect sure. She couldn’t bear to lose him, she wouldn’t survive it. How could she ever feel secure when she had so much to lose? The second the thought crossed her mind, the words tumbled from between her lips, shocking her as much as him. “Maybe we should get married.” 

Jay looked at her blankly, obviously in shock. She could see it all over his face, he couldn’t believe what she was saying, she couldn’t either. “I’m serious, let’s get married.” 

In a split second, Jay saw it all. The life they would have: the white wedding, the lazy saturdays, the holidays, the kids, the house, the dog, the years they would spend growing old together, the family trips to the cabin. He saw it all, and it was in reach. He never believed that he would could have any of it, but with Hailey, he wanted everything. He would marry her tomorrow, but not like this. Not when the love of his life was standing in front of him so broken down that the only way she thought she could keep him was through a meaningless certificate. 

Hailey watched his smile fade, causing the panic to set in. “Jay, we can elope. We don’t have to wait. We can fly to Mexico or Hawaii or anywhere. Hell let’s do it here, I just want to be with you-”

“Hailey, breathe.” He said delicately, placing his hand on her cheek to keep her grounded. He leaned in, kissing her gently before pulling away to look her in the eyes, which were focused on anything but his. “Look at me, please.” She did - reluctantly - taking a deep breath when she realized his soft smile had reappeared. “I love you. And I will love you for the rest of my life. Nothing is going to change that. All I want to do is be with you, please believe me.” 

Hailey shook her head, tears beginning to fall. “I love you so much-” 

“Baby, tell me what’s going on. I want to help. Let me help you.” He was practically begging her.

She shook her head again, “Jay,” She gasped, “I can’t. Not until you say yes. I need you-” 

Suddenly, his phone began to ring. If it was any other day, he would ignore it, but today was not any other day. “It’s Kev.” 

Jay talked quietly on the phone for a minute or two. Hailey took the time to compose herself, to prepare for the worst: the end of her relationship. By the time Jay turned back around the light in her eyes was gone and there was a fake smile on her face, one that only he could see through. “Is she okay?” Hailey asked.

“Uh yeah, he just wants us to come so that he can go switch with Adam.” Hailey nodded, grabbing her phone off the table along with her keys. He cautiously followed her to the door. “We’re gonna be okay Hailes, no matter what.” He said, knowing full and well that this conversation was far from over. 

Hailey nodded, “I know.” The left the apartment, and Hailey did her best to ignore the feeling of dread deep in her chest, but it was inescapable. No one could walk away clean from she had done, not her, not even Voight. 

Hailey leaned against the wall outside of MED, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was racing and her eyes were burning, she clenched them shut to dull the ache, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was a gun pointed in her face. 

“Just because your stomach can’t handle it.” 

Hailey gagged, doubling over and leaning against the concrete wall. 

“Cause you’re scared.” 

She emptied the content of her stomach into the grass, choking and coughing violently as tears continued to stream down her face. Her vision clouded again, images of Voight’s face splattered with blood as he approached her running through her head. It felt so familiar. 

Maybe it was her father’s reappearance in her life, but she felt like she was a child again. Hiding behind the couch or in her room, him screaming at her and her brothers as they ran scared. Her past was taunting her, like it was trying to prove to her that she would never be rid of it. That history would always repeat itself. 

Jay followed her, watching from the doorway as she threw up. He rushed to her, “Hailey-” His hand touched her shoulder and she gasped, pulling away quickly and facing him, her arms shielding her face. Jay took a step back, caught off guard by the terror clearly shown on her face. She was frozen, panting hard.

“I-I’m sorry-I,” She said softly, slowly bringing her hands down to her sides. Jay watched as her gaze fell to the ground, his heart dropping into his stomach. He took a cautious step forward. “I’m not, I’m not afraid of you, I-” 

Jay’s expression softened, “I know, I know. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He was hurt, sure, but this wasn’t about him. It was so much bigger than him. 

Hailey wasn’t sure what emotion was more overwhelming: the fear, the guilt or the physical pain she felt in her chest. He looked so defeated, and it was her fault. He thought she was afraid of him. 

He took another step forward, “Can I?” He motioned to his outstretched hand, holding it out to her. Hailey nodded, slipping her hand into his. He slowly pulled her into to him, her arms snaking around his waist and her cheek pressed against his chest. She took a deep breath, instantly calming her. “Hailey?” She hummed in response. “Can you please tell me what happened? You’re starting to scare me.” 

Hailey took a step back, looking him straight in the eye, memorizing the way they were looking at her, in case it was the last time they ever showed that much love. She nodded, grabbing his hand and pulling him to a bench further away from the hospital. This was the last place she wanted to tell him, but he obviously couldn’t wait any longer, he shouldn’t have to. She couldn’t be selfish with him. 

They sat down, facing each other. Hailey let her hand fall out of his, folding hers in her lap. “Voight did find a lead.” She said, shrugging. “Ruzek and I didn’t know, he gave us the legit addresses. Adam, he um, he kind of lost it so I told him to go be with Mackayla, and he did. So, I went to find Voight.” 

Jay’s eyebrows were cinched together, listening intently. “He was at some warehouse, he had Roy. I walked in and he, uh he, he pulled his gun on me.” Jay’s jaw clenched, but he kept his cool (barely), letting her continue. “He was beating information out of Roy, then you radioed that you found Kim, but-but he was going to kill him anyway. We fought.” Hailey took a breath, but continued to ramble, “I convinced him to bring him in. I wanted to do it the right way, we were going to do it the right way, like you. I wanted to do it right, like you, Jay. But then, then-then he reached for Voight’s gun and, Jay I swear he was going to shoot Voight, so I-” Hailey choked out a sob, unable to look her partner in the eye. 

Jay slid his hands in Hailey’s lap, wrapping them around hers. Hailey’s head shot up, shock written all over it, “So you shot him, to protect your Sargeant.” Jay finished for her. She risked her career to protect him even though Voight had no care for hers.

Hailey shuddered, “I promise, I tried. I told him to drop the weapon. I saw him, he had the gun in his hand. I wanted to do it right.” 

“Shhh,” Jay said, pulling her to him. “It was a good shoot Hailes, you did it right.” He held her as her tears soaked his shirt, running a hand through her hair. He was trying to soothe her, but he was seething. He couldn’t believe Voight had put her in that situation. Voight had been on the job a long time, he knew better than to come into close contact with a violent offender with an exposed weapon. 

Once he wrapped his brain around his anger, it hit him. 

“No Jay, not until you say yes.”

Hailey was scared that he would blame her, or leave her over this. He held her a little tighter, his own tears gathering in his eyes as he held her. “I love you.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

That grabbed Hailey’s attention. She peered up at him, her blue eyes filled with tears and hope. “Really?” She asked quietly, her voice breaking. 

Jay nodded, not trusting his own voice. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. Hailey’s eyes fluttered closed, this time, no flashbacks plaguing her mind. His hand settled on her cheek, brushing his thumb over her cheek. Jay pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. “Really,” He whispered 

There was a cough beside them, and Jay looked up first. Hank Voight was standing before them. “How’s she doing?” He asked. 

Hailey stared at him in shock. He looked like he always did. He was no longer wearing his tactical gear and his face was no longer splattered with blood. He was Voight, like nothing had happened. For a split second Hailey envied him, his ability to walk away unscathed, like it was any other Wednesday night and the only thing wrong was Kim’s life was hanging in the balance. Then she looked at Jay, whose jaw was clenched and his eyes were stuck on sergeant. He was just as strong, maybe even stronger, and he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. If he could do it, so could she. 

Jay stood, looking like a force to be reckoned with. “You need to leave.” 

Voight scoffed, quickly glancing at Hailey, “Excuse me.” 

“You heard me Sarge, leave. Now.” Jay said. His voice staying low, but intimidating nonetheless. 

“I have a right to be here Jay, to see Burgess,” Voight said, his words becoming louder as he took a step forward. 

“Then go, be the leader you’re supposed to be, but don’t you dare go near her.” Hailey’s breath caught in the back of her throat, her heart swelling at the sight in front of her. Voight glared at Jay, nodding shortly. Jay took another step forward, so that their faces were level, “And if she is brought into this, in any way, I will bury you.” He never raised his voice, or made any move to physically escalate the situation. The last thig he wanted to do was scare Hailey more than she already was. 

“Understood,” Voight said, with a trace of venom that could have been deadly. 

They parted ways, Voight entering the hospital doors and jay turning to face his girlfriend, who had been silent. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

Hailey nodded, “Yeah, I’m okay.” She met his concerned gaze. “Thank you.” 

Jay gave her a soft smile, “Of course.” She glanced between him and the hospital doors, a nervous look on her face. Jay held out his hand, which she gladly took. “Come on, we can come back in the morning.” 

Hailey sighed in relief, standing. He guided them down the sidewalk, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Let’s go home Hailes.” 

“Hold on.” Hailey said, her anxiety getting the best of her again. She turned to face him, their eyes locking. She felt tears gather in eyes once again at the look in his, the one she had memorized, that she had prayed would never disappear. She smiled as he eyed her. “Ok, I’m good.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him in the direction of his truck. “Let’s go home.” 

…

A/N: I couldn’t help myself, I had to haha. I can’t believe the premieres are only a month away! Thanks for reading <3

[hxlyhead-harpies]

The Only Exception

Request:   @durmstrange​ hello!! can I request a song prompt for George with the only exception by paramore? ��� love your work so much! 

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: (Y/n) swears that she will never fall in love. George is determined to change that

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: None that I can think of

(gif from google)

You watched as George’s chest rose and fell in the rhythm of his breathing. His eyes were closed and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as he dreamt, the warm early morning sun gracing his features. You studied him from your side of the bed, one arm slipped under your pillow and one caressing George’s arm. You smiled as he slept, in awe of the fact that you were so lucky. And a warmth filled your body as you gazed at him, an indescribable feeling that filled your senses and made your brain and heart feel like they were on fire. It was a feeling that you had so long avoided and so long swore that you would never feel. But here you were, next to George, feeling overwhelmed by a feeling you had always said never existed. Love.

You were eight years old when your dad had left, leaving the broken shell of your mother behind him. He had cried as he walked out, regretting the action that put him in this position. A drunken night after work he had broken the vow that he had made to his wife all those years ago. Through broken sobs he swore that he still loved her and proclaimed it as she threw his belongings at him, screaming at him to get out of the house. You had watched from the top of the stairs, your head poking through the bars of the banister, tears sliding down your cheeks.

Your parents had always seemed so impossibly in love; the lingering touches and sweet kisses that they shared and the way they looked at each other led you to believe that they were the epitome of what love was. But you watched as they yelled and fought and decided right then and there that you were wrong. People who loved each other couldn’t cause this type of pain. And if what your parents had wasn’t love, you knew that the feeling didn’t really exist.

You stalked into your room and pulled out the storybook your father had gifted you for your seventh birthday. Your parents used to read it to you before bed, you snuggled between the two of them as they told the epic stories of romance and intrigue, always pointing to the princess and her savior and saying, “look! It’s just like Mommy and Daddy!” You threw the book in a box of your father’s belongings, waiting for it to disappear forever in the same way that your father had. Because that was all that love was, a fairytale.

Your father was gone from your life. You never saw him again. Your mother never remarried. She swore off romance and every night after her third glass of wine she’d stumble into your bedroom and reminded you that she would never ever fall in love again and that you should never let yourself try. You took her words to heart.

George had dropped, quite literally, into your life during your fifth year at Hogwarts. You were shelving books in the library when he turned the corner into the aisle you were standing in. He looked over his shoulder as he ran and turned just in time to see you pressed up against the shelf with your eyes wide. He tried to stop himself before he crashed into you but ended up slipping on the floor underneath him. He tumbled down, just barely missing you. You gasped and set the books down quickly. You reached down a hand and asked him if he was alright. He just looked up at you and beamed.

“I’m alright now that a pretty girl like you is offering to hold my hand,” he said with a smirk. You retracted your hand and furiously attempted to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks. George just smiled at you before hopping up and brushing off his robes. He sent you a cheeky grin before leaning against the shelf next to you.

“The name is George Weasley,” he said proudly, “what’s yours?” he asked. You ignored him, not trusting the fluttering feeling in your stomach.

“Oh come on now, what is it then?” he asked again. You rolled your eyes. Before he could push anymore, Professor McGonagall appeared behind him and pulled George out of the library by his ear. George laughed before sending you a pointed look.

“I’ll see you around!” he shouted at you with a wink. You froze, staring at the spot he once was for minutes after he was gone.

After that day, George seemed to become a constant in your life. He popped up everywhere; he waved hello to you from across the great hall and would flop down next to you when you studied in the courtyard. You acted annoyed when he would bother you, rolling your eyes at him when he tried to make you flustered and swatting his hand away when he tried to sling an arm around your shoulder. But secretly you enjoyed it and that scared you. You couldn’t let yourself get too close and you couldn’t let yourself feel too strongly for him. So you kept your distance. George swore that he would crack you one day. He longed for the moment you would truly laugh at his antics and not pretend that you hadn’t heard him.

Over the summer and winter holidays, he sent you letters. They were funny and full of jokes and stories of his family. You devoured them within seconds of them being delivered, soaking up every word that George intended for you. With the letters, you could be private about your affection towards him. When he spoke to you in person you hid your ever-growing crush, trying to protect your heart from inevitable heartbreak. But with the letters, you could hole yourself up in your room and be the true blushing mess that he made you. You never responded to his letters, afraid that you’d somehow admit that he was all that you thought about.

In your sixth year, George asked you to the Yule Ball. He had come up behind you in the library, not unlike the way he did the day that you met, holding a modest bouquet of daffodils. He stood in front of you, a stuttering mess, and practically begged you to accompany him to the dance. You said yes, but only under the condition that you’d be going as friends. George had frowned at that, it clearly not being the answer he had hoped for, but agreed.

You fretted for weeks about the ball. You were nervous, to say the least. You didn’t want your true feelings for George to be discovered. As much as you liked him, the memories of your parent’s final fight made you feel like you had to keep him at arms length.

When you had descended down the stairs in your golden dress, the look he gave you made all of that fly out the window. When you walked to meet him, he raised your hands to his lips and kissed it, murmuring that you looked beautiful. And as you spun around the Great Hall with George, you found yourself not thinking of the inevitability of heartbreak, but only of the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist and the feeling of your head on his chest.

That night when he walked you back to the common room he told you that he wished that you could have come to the ball as more than friends. You shyly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before hesitantly agreeing. His face broke out into a gorgeous grin before he leaned down and ghosted his lips against yours.

One night towards the end of your sixth year you sat in the owlery with Geroge. His head was in your lap and he toyed with your fingers as you recounted your day to him. After four months of officially dating, you were still getting used to calling George your boyfriend and the little intimacies that came with giving him that title. The way he’s brushed your hair out of your face or put a hand on your knee when you sat near each other. You always felt startled by the way he looked at you, pure adoration shining in his eyes. You felt just as deeply for him as he felt for you, yet you couldn’t help but feel scared. Because deep in the recess of your mind you always reminded yourself that this type of feeling never lasted.

You continued to relay the story of how Snape had managed to make a cauldron explode during class when George sat up suddenly. You paused in the midst of your story, furrowing your eyebrows at his abrupt movement. George looked at you with a flushed face and nervous smile.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, the blush across his pale, freckled skin only deepening. You froze, your throat constricting with panic. He looked at you, waiting for you to reply, but you couldn’t. It felt like the walls were closing in and a hole began forming in your chest. The four-letter word brought back every painful memory of your past, reminding you of every moment that your parents had said it to each other before breaking their own hearts.

George’s face filled with concern as your breathing picked up. He cupped your face gently.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice was shaky with worry. He wiped away the tears that you weren’t aware had fallen.

“George I-” you said.

“Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything back,” he said quietly. You averted your gaze.

“Thank you. But I- I just can’t say that. And I don’t know if I ever will be able to,” you said tearfully, preparing for him to scoff and shatter your heart into a million pieces. Instead, he pulled you into a tight hug and stroked your hair.

“I’ll wait for the day that you’ll be able to. I’ll wait for forever if I have to,” he said softly.

George told you that he loved you often, never expecting a reply in return. He didn’t quite know why you couldn’t bring yourself to repeat the words back, but he loved you too much to worry about it. He knew that you felt deeply for him, and that was enough.

And with every day you felt yourself fall for him more and more. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew that you loved him. But you didn’t know if you’d ever have the strength to admit it out loud.

The night before George left Hogwarts he had tearfully bid you goodbye, promising that he’d think of you every second that you were apart. He told you about the flat above the shop and how there was a space in his bed meant just for you. He’d slipped a key into your hand and told you that when you were ready, he was waiting for you. You had smiled at him and gave him a fervent kiss, hoping that it conveyed the words that you were too scared to say.

After you finished your final year you had shown up promptly at the front steps of your new home. After months of exchanging letters, you were finally going to see George again. You inserted your key into the lock and stepped into the shop.

“I’m sorry but we’re closed,” a familiar voiced called out. George sat behind the register, his back towards you.

“Oh, I guess I’ll have to come back later then,” you said with a smirk. George’s shoulder’s tensed at the sound of your voice and he promptly spun around to face you. A smile broke across his face and he hopped over the counter and ran to meet you. He scooped you up in a hug and spun you around. He peppered kisses across your face, murmuring that he loved you in between each one.

And now you laid beside him as he slept, his legs hooked with yours. You brushed your finger along the bridge of his nose, causing him to stir. His eyes slowly fluttered open and his gaze snapped to you.

“Good morning beautiful,” he said softly, rubbing his tired eyes with his hand. You leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his nose. You took a shaky breath and looked him in the eyes, summoning all of the bravery that you could muster.

“I love you, Georgie,” you whispered. George’s eyes widened and tears began to form. He pulled you in, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck.

“I love you too, (Y/n),” he said softly, his voice airy. You had always guarded your heart and set rules to keep yourself safe. But every rule had an exception, and for George, you’d always make an exception.

[zevlors-tail]

Hi I feel really bad for sending in an emergency request but bakugou, deku, or kaminari comforting and helping a reader who is going through a major depressive episode with suicidal thoughts. I’m so sorry I feel really bad for asking

A/N: I could not have gotten this at a more convenient time. I just want to say thank you for requesting this, and please don’t be sorry for asking about this. If you want to talk my dms are open, but I hope this helps! This was extremely cathartic for me to write. I only did Bakugou for the moment, but I fully plan on coming back at some point to at least add Denki (and also Deku eventually). Bakugou as a secret comfort character for me? It’s more likely than you think.

TW: Suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, suicidal reader, depression. PLEASE DO NOT READ if these things trigger you. It’s extremely descriptive and emotional!

Bakugou Katsuki

“Hey...are you okay?” 

You barely snapped out of your foggy trance as you slowly blinked, your coworker’s face coming into focus eventually as you gathered your surroundings you had long since forgotten about. Your response was immediate, familiar words strung together with little effort after saying them over and over again. No longer did they drag you down and taste like lies in your mouth; now they were just the ghost of a feeling you struggled to remember, an empty shell with hollowed out meaning. 

“Oh, yeah...just tired,” you drawled. And you were.

There weren’t too many days anymore that you didn’t feel drained, didn’t feel like the weight of the world was sitting on your shoulders. You felt heavy- both mentally and physically, like there were weights tethered to your arms and legs. It made you feel utterly exhausted at the end of every day and stole your motivation to get up in the morning. Your bed never seemed more comfortable, and your sheets never seemed so warm. If you had the choice, you would allow yourself to lie there forever, to skip work in favor of sleeping through the whole day, because what good was there in being awake, anyway? Lately it just seemed like everything was a waste.

“Are you sure? You just seem...down.” Your coworker gave you a concerned look, and you thought it ironic that the day you felt you might snap was the day everyone chose to finally ask if you were alright. Maybe she could see it on your face, or maybe you finally looked how you felt inside. Whatever the case, you didn’t care. In fact, you hardly cared about anything; it was hard to care about your life when you felt there was no value to it.

“I’m fine! Just really tired,” you repeated without hesitation.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” She seemed to take the explanation without any further question, shrugging and turning around to get back to what she had been doing before. “Just make sure management doesn’t catch you staring off like that; I think they’re in a bad mood today.”

Logically, you knew you were dealing with depression. Depression was not something new to you; this had happened before, and you had managed to dig yourself out of your own hole each time, but this time was...different. Logic didn’t stop the thoughts rampaging through your mind, didn’t quiet the voices that told you others would be better off without you. You felt like a burden to everyone, a walking problem that caused trouble everywhere you went. Just this morning at work you had dropped something accidentally, and it had spilled all over the floor and under the tables, the mess reaching into the cracks and crevices of the tiles where it would be harder to get to. You had done the best you could to clean it up, but in the end, the janitor had to step in and clean up the mess that you made. Maybe it was just an accident, and maybe you didn’t mean to spill your food, but you couldn’t see past the fact that you were always like this. Always spilling things, always causing problems for others, always inconveniencing everyone you came into contact with. Maybe...it would be better if you had stayed in bed all day instead of coming to work.

Maybe it would be better if you had never woke up in the first place.

...No!

You shook the thought from your head, doing your best to ignore it and focus on something else. Come on, you told yourself, focus on your job. But your mind remained hazy as you continued on with work, and it only served to cause more problems for you. By the end of the day, you had accidentally dropped a couple more items, slipped on some water and fell face first to the ground, and towards the end of your shift, just as you were clocking out, you bumped into an unruly customer who was clearly having none of it today. Hands reached out to shove you away and you stumbled, tripping over your own feet as you tried to get a grip and regain your balance.

“Watch where you’re going, god! Are you blind or something!? Jesus!”

For any other person, it might have just made them upset or angry, but it would have been passed off as a bad day, a bad moment in the grand scheme of things that would go away with time. But for you? For you it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Whatever motivation and will to live you had left, it was gone within the instant, replaced with a numb, empty feeling. What was the point in all of this? If this was life, if you were constantly going to cause problems and get in people’s way, what was your purpose here?

If nothing was enjoyable anymore...you just wanted it to end. It was too late for you anyways; you felt too far gone to be saved. And honestly...what was even left to save? You felt like a shell of your former self.

And that was how you left the store, feet dragging against the ground as you numbly walked to your car to go home. It took you a while to collect yourself, so you sat there for a few minutes in the parking lot, keys stuck in the ignition and hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. Finally, you worked up the will to actually start the car, and then you were on your way home. Home...where you would probably just lie through your teeth again and go lay in bed for the rest of the night.

Bakugou was in the kitchen making dinner when you padded through the foyer and announced your arrival, the smell of spices overwhelming rather than inviting or enticing. But then again, you didn’t have much of an appetite lately, and you found the thought of sleep to be more appealing than the thought of food anyways.

“I’m home.” Your voice was quieter than usual, your tone flat and monotonous. Bakugou didn’t respond for a minute, and you wondered if he had even heard you over the sound of something sizzling in a pan.

“Y/N, that you?” A head poked out from around the corner, red eyes meeting E/C. “How was work?”

“It was work.” You blinked and kicked your shoes off haphazardly, your body already caving in on itself as you made your way to the bedroom. If Bakugou noticed the change from your usual demeanor, he said nothing about it, only going back to what he was doing in the kitchen when you retreated to your sanctuary for the night.

Finally alone with your thoughts, you crawled under the soft sheets with your work clothes still on and curled up, eyes already shutting even before your head hit the pillow. At some point you must have managed to fall asleep, because the next thing you knew you were being shaken awake by Katsuki, a sweet and savory smell drifting through the air. Your stomach rumbled, and though it felt empty, you still didn’t feel like eating emotionally. The only thing you seemed to feel now was a heaviness settling on your soul.

“Y/N, come eat.” Either you were imagining things or Bakugou’s normally gruff voice was more gentle and relaxed as he woke you from your slumber.

You protested with a whine, your face scrunching up in annoyance from being woken up. “Tired...” you mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you haven’t had anything since you came home from work, babe.”

“That was only an hour ago...” you started, your voice still thick from sleep. But as you looked towards your alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed, you were surprised to find that the little digital numbers read 11:58 pm. You’d slept for a little over five hours since you had arrived home. “Shit-!”

That seemed to do the trick, and you were scrambling up and out of bed in no time, panic and confusion washing over you from your prolonged nap. Had you really slept so long? You hadn’t meant to, but it did feel nice to have a small break from everything you felt when you were awake. And again, you caught yourself wondering if maybe the world would be better off if you never woke up. Eventually the haziness of your dream state faded, leaving you with the same reality you had been facing earlier in the day. You wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and curl up in your state of melancholy, but you were up now, and Katsuki would worry if you didn’t eat anything.

The two of you made your way to the dinning room table where a plate of reheated leftovers sat along with some silver cutlery, a cute little holiday napkin leftover from Halloween resting next to it. You stared at the pumpkin covered paper for a while before picking up your fork and stabbing at whatever dish Bakugou had decided on for dinner. Lately he seemed to be on a vegetable kick, though a healthy dose of fruits and meats were also thrown into the mix for balance. You mindlessly chewed, not really paying attention to the flavor if there was any at all. In fact, it felt like you were chewing cardboard. You didn’t enjoy the taste or feel; you only ate purely out of habit and need to.

“Do you not like it?” Bakugou pulled you from your reverie of thoughts, your head snapping up in his direction when he spoke.

“Huh?”

“The food. You’ve barely touched it in the last ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? Since when had that much time passed? Looking down at your plate, you realized he was correct. Over half of your food remained untouched, bits and pieces of it spread around from your fork and pushed to the side as if it was your least favorite meal. You hadn’t even noticed you were playing with it, and you wondered how long you had been just sitting there scooting food around with a blank look on your face.

“No, it was good.” Liar. You’d hardly been able to taste it. But it wasn’t just food that had lost it’s merit to you, if you really thought about it. The world just didn’t seem as lively; colors seemed washed out and faded, food held no taste, and music just didn’t sound the same. Nothing was enjoyable for you anymore.

“Y/N. You know you can tell me if there’s something going on, right?” Bakugou’s eyes bored into you while you just stared at the brightly colored napkin.

“Yeah, I know!” you chirped back, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his gaze before returning to orange pumpkins.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” It sounded like a question, but really it was an invite. He knew there was something going on with you. Asking you was his way of giving you room to explain yourself before he decided to pry. Usually he was mindful of any boundaries you might have had, but Katsuki was never a fool, and you tended not to open up easily. Sometimes a little pushing and prodding on his part was necessary.

“Not really? Just work, but it was the usual. I’m just tired.” Even as you tried to pass your unusual behaviors off as a bad day at work and exhaustion, you couldn’t hide the sour note that slipped into your voice along with the visible scowl you made. But the emotions were short lived, and you were back to feeling defeated and down within mere seconds.

“Hey...” You felt compelled to look up at him when he softened his voice even more, but everything in you told you to hold back and keep staring at those damn balls of orange on the napkin. Why, you weren’t sure- maybe it was to keep from crying, or maybe it was to suppress the feelings that were slowly surfacing within you, or maybe it was just because you no longer cared. “Are you alright?”

You visibly winced when he asked. Suddenly everything hurt; everything was a mess, it was all wrong, all of it, and you just wanted it to stop. The pain, the numbness, the thoughts- everything. It felt like you hadn’t been able to catch a break since the day you were born. Day in and day out you lived like that, and no one would ever ask if you were okay. No one took the time to check on you properly; no one seemed to notice when you felt like you were at your worst. Well...no one except Bakugou. He’d been your rock for a long time now, but lately everything had gotten much worse, and you had kept certain things from him so as not to burden him with your troubles. In your eyes, he had enough of his own problems; hero work was already rough on him as it was, so you kept things to yourself so he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. 

“Why does everyone always ask that when it’s already too late?”

The words tumbled uncontrollably from your mouth as your brows furrowed, a pained look clouding your dull eyes. Bakugou took a moment to process what you said before responding, eyes still locked onto you.

“What does that mean?” He already knew. You could hear it through the apprehensiveness in his voice, see it in the way he gritted his teeth anxiously. “Y/N, what does that mean?”

You glared at the blurry orange shape below you (were you crying...?), refusing to look Katsuki in the eyes. You were afraid of what might happen if you did. “I’m just...a waste of space.” There was a strange conviction to your voice, as if you’d made up your mind about something. Bakugou did not miss this. You, however, did miss the flash of fear in his ruby eyes as you spoke. “I cause problems for everyone I meet. I’m just a giant inconvenience to the world, and everyone would be better off without me. I don’t matter.”

“Y/N.”

“Would anybody even care if I was gone? I mean really, what difference am I making here?”

“Y/N, look at me.”

“It would be better that way. People wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore, and I don’t have to deal with all of...this.” You made some sort of gesture with your hands, your voice cracking as you held back hot tears. “Life. It’s just...it’s so exhausting. I’m so, so tired of having to wake up every day and drag myself out of bed and live. Nothing is fun anymore, and it’s hard just to breathe. I mean, seriously!? Come on, ya know? I didn’t ask for this, I don’t want to live like thi-!” You choked up, silent sobs wracking your shoulders as you buried your faced in your hands. 

Across the table, Bakugou slid from his chair and made his way to you, feet thudding against the floor as he quickly closed the distance and kneeled down to your level. “I knew something was wrong, but...” He gently cupped your face in his hands, palms warm against your tear stained cheeks. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

You struggled to remember when this all started. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, and days to weeks that blurred into months eventually. Time blended together, and you couldn’t recall the last time you felt able to get up in the morning without feeling like it was a chore. “I don’t know...” you answered honestly.

Bakugou rubbed his thumbs against your face carefully, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he brought you into an embrace against his chest. You didn’t fight it, instead leaning into his touch while crying, and the two of you stayed there for quite some time before Katsuki spoke up about how he was feeling.

“You may think that you don’t make much of a difference here on this earth, but that’s just utter bullshit, Y/N. You make a hell of a big difference to me and everyone else around you, and you would be sorely missed and grieved over. Don’t you dare for one second think that you’re not important or loved, because you are; you are so, so loved.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you cried.

“I know, babe. It’s hard to see it right now, I know. Your mind is telling you the opposite. But believe me when I say you are the most loving and caring person I know. You’re always reaching out to others, maybe even a little too much, and you’re always checking on them. You’ve made a world of difference to everyone. Your friends need you, your family needs you, and I need you here. And I would be devastated if anything were to happen to you.” It was hard to believe anything he said. You wanted to, you wanted to so desperately. But you weren’t sure of anything anymore, and the most you could do was cling to him like a koala and hope that what he said was true. “Let me in. Let me be there for you. Trust me, please.” You’d never heard those words from Katsuki before. They sounded odd coming from his mouth, like they didn’t really belong on his tongue. But you listened because it was Bakugou, and you wanted to trust him. You wanted to be able to feel okay, and he’d always been there no matter how much you’d tried to push him away.

“Okay,” you murmured against his chest, your tired eyes drooping shut in exhaustion. Your shoulders followed suit as they slumped downwards, and you gave in and crumbled into his arms. 

“You’re not a waste of space. You’re extremely important to me, and I don’t tell you that enough. Every day when you leave for work, I miss you. I love when you come home and greet me, and I’m a better person because of you. Y/N, you’ve gotten me through shit I didn’t think I was going to make it out of. And you know what? We can do this. We can do it together, and it’s going to take a lot of work, but we will do it. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” You couldn’t help but to smile at that. “And I know you feel like a burden, but you’re not. Your problems are never a bother. People are here for you, they want to help support you and listen to you. I want to support you. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Everything’s gonna be okay. I love you.” 

You couldn’t stop the fresh tears from falling, quiet hiccups taking over you as you cried into his shirt. “I love you too,” you managed somehow.

Bakugou rubbed a hand over your back, his chin coming to rest on your head as he sighed. “I’m not going to let you give up on yourself, no matter what.”

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with 

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are. 

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

**

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan. 

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders. 

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

**

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

**

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel. 

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

**

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine. 

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this. 

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates. 

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

**

The Titans make it for the service. 

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife. 

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known. 

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin. 

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family. 

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

**

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed). 

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

**

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.