#i feel like a rabid dog i just want to gnaw on them and get slammed down on the floor like a ragdoll im screaming and barking djrjs FUCK

[receival]

baldur’s gate 3 starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from larian’s baldur’s gate 3. part 2.

look at me - i’m not a monster.

stay back. i don’t want to hurt you, but i will.

no. you’re not one of them at all.

i was ready to run you through. my mistake, friend.

that’s far enough. what’s your business down here?

you revealed our location? that tongue gets any looser, (name), and i’ll cut it out.

reckon i might miss this place.

this place is more dangerous than i thought.

well, don’t you cut a fine figure.

sometimes i’m jealous of that girl. ugh - to feel so invincible again.

in your expert opinion, what’s the best way to kill a devil?

i’m certain there are answers out there. we’ll find them together.

there’s no story. none that you’re entitled to hear, anyway.

you can tolerate a great deal of suffering, so long as it has meaning.

until then, all i can do is endure.

please try to understand that it’s not something i can just talk about freely.

perhaps there’s potential in you.

honestly, your faith is your own concern. i won’t judge, one way or the other.

i think i did well by joining you.

you already know my biggest secrets. what more can you ask?

that wall’s an illusion! hiding what, i wonder …

sun, moon, and stars will still be there, waiting for us.

this place is pretty spectacular, isn’t it?

no book or painting could ever do its strange beauty justice.

a perfect ring of mushrooms … nature, or magic?

hmm. i thought that might’ve done something.

another illusion. is anything real down here?

i’m more concerned with this ‘twit’ who set a spectator on you.

a rival - a mere footnote to my legend. you should be more concerned with who i am.

the fools must have turned back. or, better yet, died in the search.

i need no more rivals. try to take this as a compliment, yes?

this presence … this magic is not divine, but fey.

little? i am a god! and i’m gonna rip you - tear you - wear you for a hat -

don’t do anything hasty, now.

i’ll just kill you and claim it for myself.

i’m the lord of murder - i’ll show you why.

if you’re expecting me to drop to my knees before you, forget it.

a wizard’s tower is his sanctum, a private place for research and respite. but as this wizard’s not home … i say we take a peek.

a strange place for a button. especially one that doesn’t work.

what good would it do for me to be troubled? we can’t save them all.

you’ll have to speak slowly. i find it quite difficult to concentrate with my condition gnawing at my insides like a teething displacer kitten.

the whole village is falling to pieces …

hey, maybe we can scare up a few dusty bottles of wine somewhere.

i like your way of thinking. split any takings we find?

what creatures live in water this dark?

i’m a rabid dirty dog. and i bite.

i could’ve killed you before you even noticed me, but i didn’t. stand down.

i can be discreet. no need for bloodshed.

share? you really are in the wrong place.

a bleeding heart, are you? reckon i’ll just roast and eat it.

what in the hells did you do to that corpse?

you do plenty for me, more than you realize. but this cannot be remedied.

are you alright? is there anything i can do to help you?

enough. bickering won’t save your friend.

run away, then.

(name) - i was so worried! did they hurt you?

who cares? we’re together now, thank gods!

i’m grateful, don’t mistake me, but … why help us?

freeze it, cock-stench. we aren’t done just yet.

pay up, and you get to skink away. resist, and i gut you.

drop it. i don’t owe you anything.

your incompetence has been my ruin.

stop! no more innocents will die today, (name).

you care for the weak. most curious.

you so much as touch me, and i’ll tear you from limb to limb.

ah - another treacherous soul walks among us.

i ain’t going down easy.

you been a shit since i laid eyes on you, (name).

strike him down. prove your faith.

your silence speaks to your heresy.

look, you have no idea what you’re dealing with …

it’s the whole damn reason we’re here, and i’m not leaving without it.

the mission comes first.

and i thought i’d heard it all. that’s some cambion-level deception.

i go where there’s shit to stir. and there’s no shortage of options.

i can’t remember much, truth be told.

centuries of torment will do that to you.

you’ve been naughty. and you know what happens when you’re naughty.

just who in the nine hells are you?

well, well. aren’t you a luscious thing?

been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me like that.

you have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. i like it.

you know, i’ve been thinking. and i think there’s something i should tell you. nothing big or terrible, just … a small little detail about me that hasn’t come up naturally.

i want to join you - to fight by your side.

i’m sorry for barging in like this, but i had to come find you.

i won’t let you down. i promise.

we all have our burdens, one way or the other.

i’m trying to say that you’ve earned my trust in a way very few ever have … i want that to mean something.

freedom - i’d forgotten how it felt. thank you.

if you have a moment, i’d like your opinion on something.

the problem is this: a preponderance of evidence that i am a terrible adventurer.

i can’t risk re-capture. i barely escaped last time.

it was a mistake. and not one we’ll repeat.

i don’t know. he was kind of fun.

we can’t just invite danger in to our hearth like that. we must be more careful.

most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me.

an old hunter’s trick - if you can’t mask your scent, spoil it.

i prefer a weapon to stench, thanks.

you’re a monster hunter? not what i imagined.

whatever you’re hunting, your stench alone will kill it.

a quick wit is rare indeed.

know how to ask, and they’ll share that knowledge. if you’re fool enough to pay their price.

speak plainly. what is she?

i think you’re mistaken - this place looks innocent enough.

truth is like a blade, my friend. we can arm ourselves with it - or just as easily find it pressed against our throat.

i would not put you in danger.

your coyness is getting boring. tell me.

you take insult where none is intended, my friend.

how thoroughly invigorating it is to stand by one’s friend in the face of danger.

you best have one hells of an apology for me.

you must have mistaken me for someone else.

that wriggler swimming in your brain juice is a bit of an inconvenience, isn’t it?

that’s none of your concern.

don’t change the subject.

keep that hole under your nose shut.

let’s not involve ourselves in this place any longer than is necessary.

you want to play the hero so badly? fine. let’s make this interesting.

gods, it’s hot in here.

i’ve had better days. and worse ones.

i am, after all, the villain of the tale.

you truly are a soul that steels my own.

you are as thick as they come.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i stand at a precipice, but if you do not give up hope, neither shall i.

all of this … it must feel like a betrayal.

you bastard! you ruined it, you ruined everything!

slow down - what did i do?

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

i don’t need this. good luck getting out of here on your own.

i know i should head home, but … i can’t bring myself to leave.

(are you alright?) / not even a little bit. but i will be.

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

i cannot thank you enough.

you will face (name)’s judgement.

i wish you could have visited at a better time.

you had no right to intervene.

you’re not one of us.

copper for your thoughts?

always a delight to speak to you.

did i play games like this in my youth? was i sweet once?

what are you doing? i’m busy here!

nothing beats the taste of stolen beer.

come on, now. they’re just having a bit of fun.

let’s do what we have to do, then get out of here.

smell’s like burnt flesh.

hold out your arm so i can mark your flesh.

i’m here to spill your guts across the floor.

pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?

i often feel i like raw pain too much. it scares me.

as long as the story ends in death, it’s all the same to me.

forgive me, but - that look in your eyes. something terrible has happened to you.

what i see in your eyes, in your soul, is only natural.

we’ve all suffered in these dark times. it is little wonder you hear scars of pain and anguish.

touch me and you’ll lose your hand.

the pain you suffer will cleanse you - do not fight it.

you look tired. should i take over?

welcome the pain. let it become part of you.

that looks like it’s going to bruise.

not that i’m suggesting we stop for a drink, of course.

i wouldn’t want to place all my faith in blind luck.

sympathies won’t help me to survive.

your life, much like your words, is meaningless. end the latter to save the former.

looks like the booze got the better of them. they’re practically unconscious.

they’re dying for me. all of them.

why don’t you take a closer look? i’ll observe from back here.

please don’t open the creepy book!

toddlers are easier to please than you lot.

you know, i never pictured myself as a hero.

all i want is a little fun. is that so much to ask?

having performance issues, (name)?

never have i met such troglodytes.

i was hoping you wouldn’t notice i was gone.

i suggest we admire it from afar.

it would be too much to hope that’s nothing to do with us, wouldn’t it?

i go my own way - alone.

i’ll feed your innards to the ants before i do that.

[animentality]

this might be a little bit dark? but im lowkey interested in a reversal of the pre-brain damage durge promising to kill gortash in the end and gortash taking comfort in that, with a post-brain damage redemption-path durge who is tired of fighting, tired of wading through their broken empty brain, tired of accidentally hurting people, and who doesn't feel strong enough to resist bhaal, going to gortash's office in wyrms rock alone to purposefully goad him into killing them.

cause at this point they think their death is the only way they'll be free of bhaal, and they just want it to be over. and they might not remember gortash, but if they could at least die by the hand of someone (maybe the only one) who actually knew the real them from before their incident, well. that would be a lot nicer than letting orin hack them up or something.

(as for whether or not gortash notices that durge is not really fighting back? would he stop the battle if he suspected there was more to durge's "betrayal" than it seemed? would he shrug off their lack of fight as a symptom of their brain damage and see it through anyway? hmm)

what if i kill myself then what, anon

you've poisoned my brain, anon, thanks! THANKS A LOT.

Brain damage for Christmas...

Fuck.

That's such delicious angst, I could gnaw on its bones for years. Just the idea of the Dark Urge giving up...because they can't atone, and they can't forgive themselves, and they don't think they deserve to be alive anymore, but they won't just let themselves die at the hands of Orin, because she doesn't get that reward, for betraying them...

But Gortash? The first man who thought of them as something more than a rabid beast to be put down? Who saw them as a person, admired them, maybe loved them?

Death at his hands would be appropriate. It might even be comforting. They had promised they would kill him, in another life. It would only be fair, for him to kill them now.

Save himself, from them, right?

As in game...well.

You can't save him from yourself.

ARGH, and if Gortash thought you might be letting him kill you...well.

Truthfully, I suppose, he might just take advantage. Remove you as a threat and not question why you've allowed him to.

But since we serve nothing but delusions in the house of durgetash...

I want to believe that he'd notice immediately, and be furious.

Like fight back.

Why aren't you fighting back?

What's happened to you?

I will not fight you like this. I won't let it end like this.

You are too important to me, to simply slaughter like a dog, you're not Orin. Tell me what's wrong.

And then it becomes a pre-murder therapy session, where he tries to convince you to kill him wholeheartedly... get your mojo back, Durgy.

Heh heh.

But seriously.

Oh, this angst...is delicious.

I'm chewing on the bones, anon, I love this. I LOVE it.

[darlingpwease]

Ngl, all this omegaverse content brings me back to those asks about the pathetic and weak alpha and i can't help but imagine any of the hahwcs boyos stepping up for said alpha

oh gosh why do you still remember them shsghshdh it's embarrassing<///4 /neu /hj<3 let's develop the idea a bit into a more balanced one, so that we don't have the same experience with 'subby reader' repeated.

I'll cover for you

α!reader x β!xue meng x ω!mo ran x α!shi mei

♡ unhealthy behaviour, mixed dynamic, animalistic behaviour, 'my rabid ones' dynamic, poly relationship if you squint; weak!reader but manipulative / smart implied

alpha!reader who doesn't behave like a 'strong' or 'aggressive'; it's not that you don't have territorial instincts or a desire to protect your pack, but you just don't have this external protection that should be a facade. you are on the softer and more caring side, you do not need cruelty or rigidity to feel protected — but this is the reason why others look down on you, not seeing anything threatening in your behavior or in your figure. not that you blame them, of course, but being an aggressor is not in your character.

... even so, you really don't understand why you're being so fiercely protected.

in the end, you didn't think it was necessary — people didn't deliberately seek to humiliate you verbally, even if you more than felt how their smell was trying to suppress yours, especially when you were confronted with another alpha or aggressive alpha-like beta, who sought to emphasize his dominance over you. it was very childish, in your opinion — but you didn't react, not trying to push back or obey, calmly putting up with their attitude. haven't you been taught to be above that? in the end, an eye for an eye — and the world will go blind; if you give in to your baser instincts, then what are you better than a stray mutt? even if people are nothing more than dogs to heaven, it is important to always remain noble and humble, like an unblemished lotus flower, instead of sinking down and struggling in the mud.

of course, only you thought so. maybe that was the reason — when you tried to be peaceful and calm, clearly behaving more like a beta and not feeling humiliated by it, not being either a mattress or a guard hound, they couldn't get behind you anyway. and 'they' are not just those who look down on you.

maybe you'll be fine with that attitude, but the members of your pack are absolutely not.

even the soft and supple SHI MEI, more like an omega than an alpha, was suddenly interested and silently put his hand on your shoulder or back, giving a non-blinking look to the interlocutor, very interested in what is so important you are discussing while his usually light smell became strong and almost intrusive, sinking into the lungs and soaking the skin. and even if he becomes so protective, what could you expect from someone so protective of 'his' pack like XUE MENG or generally aggressive and almost domineering like MO RAN?

and the fact that they were alpha-like beta and omega made it even worse, as if you were a fragile flower in the garden that needed to be taken care of and protected, as if one wrong touch and you would break in two, like a crystal ball made of snowflakes. and you never considered yourself an omega — and did not want to be one; despite the personality, you were more than satisfied with the core — but it was the 'omega' that you had to be when they reacted too sharply, as if this was not a slight to you, but an insult to their entire family and relatives.

it was hard with MO RAN, who tends to get carried away easily and has both a sharp tongue and an aggressive disposition — but it was no better with XUE MENG and SHI MEI, especially when XUE MENG believed that neglecting you was an attack on himself, while SHI MEI himself was possessive and having very sharp claws and fangs hidden behind an innocent exterior. you did not feel like a "dog under heaven", but the owner of two dogs capable of gnawing anyone's throat, and a bird that could not gnaw, but could easily tear out eyes and organs — and the fact that you had to keep them under control did not let you relax or feel at peace at all.

in the end, you were not weak or powerless — you are not a puppy and not elderly — but every time you felt exactly like that when, even if you tried to convince that there was nothing important in it; but the hardest thing to convince is a domineering omega, a hyperprotective beta and an alpha confident in his opinion, — and you were incredibly lucky to collect all of them. you might as well be considered something like the heart or glue for a team that, no matter what, has one common goal and that common goal is to protect you and shoot everything that tries to touch you.

but hey, you, you are the alpha, and even if you may be weak or malleable — you are still the leader of this pack when CHU WANNING is not around (although next to him you are also often the leader, not that your leadership is based on physical strength or smell), and they obey you; of course, you prefer to think that this is out of respect for you or for your words, and not at all because it is more convenient to look after you and have an excuse to always stay close to you and smell your scent or engage in scenting, since doing it with the leader of the pack is almost a duty.

yes, maybe you constantly smell like them, just like they smell like you, and MO RAN often takes your clothes for the nest, while XUE MENG demands that you constantly leave your scent on him, and even SHI MEI does not mind at all, although, as an alpha, he should not be so submissive for such contacts — but who are you to be against?...

no, you don't worry at all about the consequences if they feel dissatisfied and become even more belligerent because their alpha doesn't do such small things with them at all. you're just being... prudent.

it's not such a rare quality when people need to pass thirty and three tests to get access to you.

[vampcubus]

True. And my ass needs a whimpering Gyutaro, so here we are. Enjoy the submissive thingamabob my half awake brain concocted, dear. Despite his acrid personality and rough appearance, Gyutaro is surprisingly obedient as a sub, often complying without question and rarely ever needing to punished. In fact, his brattier side next to never rears its head unless his day's been particularly bad and he's clinging to that little shred of pride he has. What do you do to tame him then? First off, make sure to restrain him after establishing that he was outright pissing you off. He'll spew vitriol at you, but, as his dom, you know that he was lying through his fucking teeth while being bound by your pretty wisteria soaked ropes. Just stay collected and tack on another punishment by tying a cloth gag around his head. "If you're going to talk to me like that, then little brats like you don't get to speak." Gyutaro won't like that and try to gnaw through the fabric. Pull his hair if he tried, it's a weak spot and it often gets his eyes rolling if you tug roughly on the tuft atop his head. Make sure to tease him for it. When Gyutaro gets bratty, you'll very much need to be a hard dom, making sure to break him to send him to subspace, so being versatile is needed, as one day he'll act like a snuggly bunny rabbit that just wants to rest his head in your lab and the next he'll behave like a rabid St. Bernard dog that's ready to tear off everyone's arms. Manhandling him will come in handy; he internalized the idea of you being fragile, so he's likely to give little to no resistance if you decide to force him into whatever position you see fit, though he will growl and tell you to watch yourself or he'll bite you. The gag method silences that. Mild impact play also works too, plus he likes it. Breaking skin with your nails? He's drooling. Hitting his thigh roughly with a flog? Yes, please, that gets him going. Biting him until he bleeds on the back of his neck or anywhere his black marks are? Moaning like a bitch in heat. Congrats, he's hit subspace. After that, you can go back to being soft, pliant, your sweet boy. As for what type of sub he is normally, he's very much a sub that's built to serve and needs praise with a few rough touches to make him cry out and whine for you to use him as you saw fit. You wanna peg him? He's asking what position. Want him to eat you out? Would you like to sit on his face or have him kneel between your legs? Wanna ride him? Already whimpering in anticipation. He's built to worship you, practically kissing the ground you walk on. Lay on the praise though, he needs it, deserves it, now that he's behaving him, doesn't he deserve to be told he's being good? Of course he does. Gyutaro also cries when he cums, like, no matter if you edge or overstimulate him, he starts sobbing as he blows his load. It feels so good, he can hardly process it, he just feels so loved and warm with you, he can't contain his tears. You adore him enough to make him feel this way, it's overwhelming. He keens and whines if you kiss or lick them away. His sobbing progresses if you keep touching him after, so a safeword might be a good idea if you have trouble telling just when he's been pushed too far. For aftercare, Gyutaro is incredibly clingy coming back to earth. Hold him, shush him, tell him you love him, just...Let him hear and hold onto you, let him bury his head in your chest, he wants the closeness, it's all he's ever craved since meeting you, the feeling of finally being made to feel safe and loved is so priceless. He couldn't ever ask for someone more perfect than you.

ALL THIS FOOD!! 🧎‍♀️tysm for sharing, you’re making me wanna write for him so badddd. i do have a kinktober prompt for him i could be working on…

[imperialmask]

Lyrics To A Song You'll Never Hear Chapter 1- Bright

As I stood at the front door, people shuffling around my static body, I looked up at the house. Modern, sleek, brick walls with freshly cleaned window frames, a sleek PVC door fooling the world with a wooden detailed disguise, these things enchanted me as a fresh, modern start.

My names Alan, I'm 14 and I'm in Year 10, beginning my GSCEs at a new school about 160 miles away from home. We moved during the summer from the midlands down to Havbridge by the coast to get away from all the trouble back home. This is a nice city, it's bright and sunny with that coastal breeze that keeps it cool on a warm day which is nice as i overheat a lot. I wear a lot of layers to keep warm, I'm like a caterpillar with a constant coat cocoon around me. It feels like a warm hug from a loved one telling you everything will be alright after a bad day.

I didn't have many friends back home which makes me doubt I'll make many here, i had one friend named Bea and she was sweet. She kept me company in those cold days in the hills of the midlands with talks of the stupid things you'd only hear kids talking, inside jokes between the 2 of us and referencing things only the odd outcast, the last kid to be picked, the kid at the back of the room would truly understand. We we're on the same wavelength, we understood what i was like to feel the way we did and that's precious. When you find someone who understands you, you want to hold on, grab on before it disappears forever. Friends like that are a life necessity; they are needed much as warmth, water or food. She was wild fire in a blizzard, a volcano in a tsunami, a cute town you find hiking in the Himalayas with the friendliest people and widest smiles on the planet. These are the people you'd fight for, the people you'd cry for, the people you'd laugh for, the people you'd do everything you hated for because they're everything you love. Yet time is a ceaseless beast, gnawing at our heels to keep on our toes; you may think it seems so far away yet it'll sneak on you like a commando and strike when you least expect it to. It tears things away like candy ripped out of a child's hands.

I was tore away from Bea when i moved, i doubted I'd ever make a friend like her again.

When the leaves turned that orangish brown and the sun grew ever dimmer each day, i felt the relief of a colder day and the dread of the first day growing ever more potent. They both crawled up and down my spine, making my blood boil, cool, boil, cool, reaching a simmer before freezing in my veins. Fear and Calm washed over my body and fought over it like rabid dogs over a fresh kill, they sunk their teeth into my flesh and tore me apart; my body torn to shreds, chartered and dissected into pieces.

Then the day arrived. I promised myself to stop with the drama and just to get it done with. Leaving the house with my freshly cut house key in hand, i thought about the next 2 years. I'd be studying Music, Media, History and Drama alongside the usual studies of English, Maths and Science but i wasn't sure what I'd be doing afterwards but i knew it'd be somewhere i could just be happy with. The best part about the next 2 years is the fact i got to choose what happens during them and i get to choose what happens after, where i go and what i study. The doors to the chambers of liberty were open, maturity forced open the gates of choice and allowed me to charge head first into my own independence. I thought of the worlds to conquer and the people to meet, the people I'd know and the lack of people who'd know me. Keeping afar from people, a quarantined bubble of space between the world and me like a self imposed solitary confinement, a glass cage for me and me alone. I probably would've been happy with that and lived that way if i was actually paying attention that day. She was a 5'7 bastion of boundless and unbridled passion. An affront to the melancholic and apathetic. This woman stood proud as a lady of the arts with an conductive energy that made her all the more charming; she was a renaissance painting in 3D, an Acropolis statue come to life like Galatea, the cheesiest yet moving love song you'd ever hear, the kind that would never leave you for as long as you'd live, in the flesh. She was otherworldly, Aphrodite in a mortal form with the the Styx's lavender water flowing from her head and down her back. She made the world feel as big as infinity yet as small as 0. Yet like the idiot i was, i bumped into her and knocked her over.

I stood there as she laid on the floor, we looked at each other in awe and confusion. I extended my arm in a desperate rush only exerted by the lonely.

"Sorry!" I exclaimed a bit too loudly for the situation.

She looked up at me and smiled, grabbing my hand and smiling at me before calmly responding as i pulled her up.

"It's fine."

We we're at the bus stop and i stood next to her as i waited, alone and isolated together i sat in my glass chamber wishing i could paint the walls and block out the light, yet she only shone brighter in darkness. The light at the end of the tunnel, she felt like peace, like home, if she was the last thing i ever saw i'd probably crave death as there'd be nothing better for me on Earth.

She blindsided me once more with a question.

"I've never seen you in Havbridge before. Are you new?"

My face shined a dark crimson. I looked over to see the sun itself irradiating on me, a smile as illuminous as the stars and as comforting as a cosy campfire in a winter cabin looked back at me.

"Y- Yeah." I forced out, i doubt i could've uttered more than a few words before saying something that would've ruined the moment.

"Oh, well I'm Claire, Claire Partridge!" She claimed with the same radiance she had in everything, extending her arm for a handshake. I looked at her in awe for a second, i dont think i'd ever been shown generosity past a "hi" or a "yo" in a hallway in years. Socialising wasn't my forte, especially not alone with a pretty girl. I wanted to hide in the glass chamber, shelter myself like a paranoid lunatic in a bunker and cut out the rest of the world like an ascetic hermit. I reached for her arm.

"Alan Baker." I told her, holding her hand. We stared at each other for a second, just holding hands without anyone shaking. She smirked and laughed slightly before shaking.

"How'd you end up in Havbridge, Baker?" She asked with the charm of a doctor yet the firmness of an inquisitor.

"My family moved here recently." I responded.

"Where from?" She continued.

"Um. A small village near Lincoln called Opbury." I responded quietly.

"I have family up there! A cousin named James Sugar!" She stated with a cheer in her voice,

"Oh i met him. Orange hair, right?" I asked with a calmer voice.

"Yeah, how cool is that?" She said with a small smirk.

"Pretty cool. Pret-ty Cool." I responded, nerves firing like a gatling gun.

After a short silence, she continued with the interrogation.

"Why'd you leave?"

"My dad found a better job here" I lied.

"Neat. You going to HavSec too?"

"Havsec?"

"Havbridge Secondary School. It takes all day to say the full thing so everyone calls it Havsec." She answered.

"Makes sense. Yeah, i'm starting today."

"Awesome, what'd ya take?"

"Drama, Media, Music and History" I nervously rattled off.

"I took Music too, what'd ya play?" She asked with a glow in her eyes.

"Oh i'm a vocalist. Self taught." I answered. I was afraid of the next words to come out of her mouth, every time someone found out i sang they'd immediately ask me to regardless of where we were or what i was doing. It was at the point i'd just lie and say "oh i'm just completely talentless, don't worry" yet something about Claire dragged me in and made me want to tell her the truth.

"That's cool. I'm a drummer for a band called 'Aurora', we're terrible but you should check us out sometime" She told me with a brutal honesty and reaching into her bag for a flier.

She passed it onto me and i gently took it as if it were on the verge of tearing. I looked at it and folded it, slipping it into the interior pocket of my coat as not to forget.

I looked back at her and she smiled at me as the bus pulled up. As she got onto the bus, i almost forgot what i was doing at the stop. I watched as she gracefully slipped out of view and into this mechanical behemoth that would carry her into no man's land also known as the education system. I quickly came to my senses and rushed on, my seat was across from her's and i sat there pondering.

She felt like a necessity, as necessary as warmth, water or food. A light at the end of a tunnel, the fire that warms a family at night or ignites a cigarette, the steam that rises from a warm cup of tea in the morning, the candle that fills the room with that warm sense of home; Claire was everything i wanted in life yet nothing i deserved.

[littlegoldfinchh]

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

[darling-i-read-it]

Shiizakana

2x09 

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, manipulation 

Author’s Note: I don’t know? What’s going on? My fingers just go and then I reread it and I’m like ‘oh shit i did that’ and i love it sm

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary :A truck driver's body appears to have been torn apart by two different species of animals working in tandem; Will meets Hannibal's new patient; Hannibal sends Will a test to determine his true self.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​

(not my gif) 

You leaned back against the headboard of the bed. You had woken up and wasn’t able to go back to sleep so you decided just to sit up and stare into the darkness, thinking and hoping that your eyes would get droopy enough to sleep. You didn’t want to have another nightmare if you did go to sleep. You had at least stopped waking up screaming. Will sometimes didn’t even notice now and you would rather him get a good night sleep. He assured you thought you could wake him up whenever you needed to. 

You glanced down at his sleeping face and let out a small sigh. You at least knew that he was something you could trust. Even if he tried to kill your only mutual friend at this point or was sent to jail on murder charges that same friend set him up for. You knew you could trust him to not want to hurt you. 

He woke up with a start. It startled you how quickly he sat up because of how peacefully you thought he had been sleeping before. 

“You okay?” you asked groggily, voice raspy from sleep. He got his bearings and nodded slowly, sitting up beside you against the back of the bed.

“Nightmare,” he muttered.

“What about?” He thought hard and you weren’t sure where his mind had gone.

“Hannibal,” he muttered. “How with love we see potential and through love we allow the loved one to see the potential.” He shook his head. “It probably didn’t mean anything. I think a deer was there.” You laughed a bit and put your head gently against the back of the headboard.

“Dreams can be weird. But they can also be very insightful,” you pointed out. He nodded, mulling over the dream he had just had. He thought about the way Hannibal was tied up and shook the image out of his mind.

“Yeah, I guess.”

-

Will had just gotten out of therapy with Hannibal. It was odd, thinking about that. Will used to tell you every detail of the sessions that he remembered but now you feel odd asking for them. You knew he was trying to get a ploy out of something. You weren’t sure what but you knew it was something. 

“I’ll meet you out there,” you said as you got your papers together. Will nodded and left out of the door. Hannibal stepped outside the office and you glanced up at him. “How was the session? Did you try and manipulate him again?” Hannibal shook his head.

“Not today.” You nodded and put on your scarf, grabbing your bag of paperwork.

“Thank you. I would like to keep him in one piece if I can help anything.” He nodded.

“That I understand.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Hannibal nodded and you waved at him as you walked out the front door. Margot Verger was outside, talking to Will. You walked up to her and gave her a small smile. 

“Hello Margot,” you said, standing beside Will. She gave you a kind smile.

“Miss. Secretary. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” 

“Y/N,” you said and shook her hand. Will put his hand on the small of your back and Margot gave you a suggestive smile.

“Miss. Secretary dating the guy who didn’t kill all those people. Quite a duo.” She gave you each a nod as you chuckled a bit in acknowledgement. “I’ll see you two around.” You nodded and she walked away, into the building. 

You glanced over at Will who was watching her go inside.

“What do you know about her?” he questioned.

“Nothing. I mean, Hannibal isn’t supposed to tell me anything,” you said which basically meant you knew a bit but weren’t allowed to share. Will nodded and you finished your walk to the car.

-

You sat in the house together. Hannibal let you go home just after Will’s appointment even though you were meant to stay longer and wrap things up. You sat together in front of the fireplace, on the floor surrounded by dogs. Every chance that you got you spent time with him after realizing the value of that time when he went to prison.

“Do you have any regrets?” Will asked. The same question he had asked Hannibal when therapy began that day. He had an arm over your back, leaning against you and the couch where you were both keeping yourselves up. 

“Yes. Doesn’t everyone?” Will looked into the fire that he had built to guard against the cold outside days. 

“I have so many regrets,” he whispered. 

“Regret comes with life.” 

“That’s what Hannibal said,” he whispered. You looked at him. His eyes seemed far away. “I regret what I did in the stables.” 

“You regretted pulling a gun or you regret letting Hannibal stop you from pulling the trigger?” Will let out a small sigh and his eyes finally met yours. 

“You were there,” he said. “You saw a part of me…” 

“That I knew was there,” you said honestly.

“What would you have done if I pulled the trigger? I wanted to. I still want to. Hannibal would have covered for me and I can’t tell what you have done.” You looked away from him. You hadn’t thought about it. You wanted him to kill the social worker. You thought that the man deserved it more than most. You knew how the justice system can fail. But still, would you have covered for Will after?

“I wouldn’t have let you go back to that hospital,” you said honestly. “I don’t know what I would have done to ensure it. Probably anything I needed to.” You looked back at his eyes and he nodded, pleased enough with that answer. 

“Are you out of hot cocoa?” he asked as he looked at your cup. You looked down at it and nodded.

“Yes sir I am.” He moved his hand away from behind you and took the cup out of your hands.

“I’ll put the cup in the sink. Do you want anything?” You shook your head.

“No, thank you. You’re very kind Mr. Graham.”

“Only for you.”

-

You walked beside Will from your car into the crime scene. You noticed Hannibal getting out of his car as well. You were all tucked in heavy coats from the weather. Will and you were both wearing beanies to hide your ears from the air. Hannibal was wearing a fun hat that you thought looked rather silly. 

“Hannibal, I love that hat,” you called as he met up with where you and Will were walking. 

“Thank you very much,” he said and you smiled. You stuck your hands in your pockets and approached where Jack stood. He turned to all three of you and seemed amazed that you were together. He stifled it quickly though.

“It snowed all night. There are no tracks. You sure it was an animal?” Will asked as he came to a halt.

“Severance of the jugular and carotids, esophagus destroyed. The bite almost severed his head,” Zeller said. 

“Evisceration was performed by large, non-retractable claws, so we’re looking at a wolf or a bear,” Price finished. 

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t afraid of humans. Not anymore.” You eye the corpse-icle on the cab of the truck.

“Don't wolves and bears drag away their kills? To eat?” you asked. 

“Unless it went mad. A rabid animal attacks its victims at random and doesn't’ eat any part of them,” Hannibal suggested. 

“There was no eating here. We found just about everything. Viscera was exposed, belly was laid open, but no sign of gnawing or rutting,” Zeller explained. The body's guts were sprayed everywhere but the cold had taken up most of the damage that you could see. Except the things that Price and Zeller hadn’t unearthed already.

“Found the same wound patterns on recent livestock mutilations in the area. Evisceration, dismemberment yet everything accounted for,” Price added.

“Since when does the FBI get involved in animal attacks, Jack?” Will asked the question you were all thinking. 

“When somebodys holding the leash of whatever’s doing the attacking.”

-

You and Will drove together to where they were holding Peter Bernardone. You got out of the car with him but leaned against it, looking over at him.

“I think this might be best handled with just you,” you muttered. Will looked over the front of the car at you.

“Why would you think that?” he questioned. You shrugged.

“You and Peter have the same problem. The same intention, for better or worse. He might open up to you more.” Will nodded and looked up at the large building. 

“Come inside anyway. Wait in the lobby for me.” You nodded.

“Sure, of course.” 

-

The next crime scene seemed just as gruesome than the last. Will was no longer convinced of the animal thing that was being pursued, he was wondering much more about the person behind the supposed animal.

You waited back beside Jack as Will did his thing. You glanced over at the man, surprised to find yourself here. Beside him, with Will in the situation you wanted him out of so much.

Will stepped out of it and turned around to you and Jack.

“It’s not an animal. It’s a man who wants to be an animal,” Will whispered. 

-

Will walked into the office as you sat at your desk. You had your feet up, drinking out of your water bottle.

“You don’t have an appointment,” you said. “What can I do for you?” He walked up to your desk.

“Is Hannibal busy?”

“No sir.” Will nodded and went to open the door before turning to you.

“I’m not here on an appointment. If you wanna come join.” You raised an eyebrow and pretended to think about it.

“Well if you insist handsome.” You got up out of your chair and Will opened the office door. You both walked inside. 

“What do I owe the pleasure to see both of you in my office?” Hannibal questioned.

“I work here,” you answered.

“And I am a patient.” 

“And we are dating,” you finished off. You sat on the desk while Will leaned against it beside you. 

“The murder recently, not a clean one,” Hannibal said. “No beat is more savage than man when possessed with power answerable to his own rage,” he muttered. 

“It’s not rage. Rage is an emotional response to being provoked. This is something else,” Will explained. 

“What is it?” Hannibal asked.

“Instinct. It’s the way he thinks.” 

“The way any animal thinks depends on limitations of the mind and body. If we learn our limitations too soon, we never learn our power,” Hannibal inquired. 

“He tore his victims apart didn’t he? I’d say he learned his power,” you said. 

“He claimed his power. Can you imagine tearing someone apart or would you prefer to use a gun?” 

“Is this a question to just me or also Y/N?” Will asked, a small sly smile on his face. 

“Both of you I suppose.” 

“Guns lack intimacy,” Will stated. 

“And it’s instant. Doesn’t allow to watch eyes drain,” you whispered.

“You set an event in motion with a gun. You don't’ complete it,” Hannibal said. You nodded, fingers wrapped around the desk. What an odd question that seemed so normalized in this room.

-

You were inside doing the dishes when you heard a car pull up. You looked at Will, who was sitting on the couch. He looked at you.

“Were you expecting company?” you questioned. He shook his head.

“I was not.” 

You put the dish down and dried out your hands, following Will to the door. You stepped outside together and the sight of Margot Verger came to your eye. You were surprised, very surprised. You had barely given the woman a second thought and now she was at your doorstep. 

“Sorry for the intrusion. We met outside of Dr. Lecter’s office,” Margot explained. 

“I remember,” you muttered.

“How did you find us?” Will questioned.

“Turns out, you are famous Will.” 

“You’re not exactly anonymous yourself, Margot,” Will said. So he had googled her mostly likely. You had as well.

“It’s cold. You have any whisky?” 

-

You, Margot and Will all held a glass. The two of them sat across from each other in the chairs while you leaned your back against the kitchen counter. 

“What’s the heir to the Verger meat packing dynasty doing at our door?” you asked her. She gave a small annoyed look, not at you but seemingly at existence.

“My brothers the heir, not me. I’ve got the wrong parts and wrong proclivity for parts,” she explained. Will liked her. She was frank, simple. You liked that about her too but you weren’t sure if you exactly liked her.

“Didn’t answer my question,” you retorted. 

“I’m here for a character reference. Patient to patient. To the secretary I suppose. What do you think of Dr. Lecter’s therapy?” That was a question you left entirely up to Will.

“Depends what you’re in therapy for,” he admitted. 

“I’m in therapy for all sorts of reasons. The Vergers slaughter eight-six thousand cattle a day and thirty-six thousand pigs, depending on the season. That’s just the public carnage.” She tapped her foot against the ground in time. 

“What’s your private carnage?” Will questioned. Margot glanced at you, like she had just been expecting Will to be here. Still, she spoke with courage. 

“I tried to murder my brother.” Will and you both studied her.

“I assume he had it coming,” Will suggested.

“Did he ever,” she scoffed. She paused a moment. “What’s your private carnage?” Will thought about answering. He glanced at you and you shrugged, taking a sip of your glass.

“I tried to murder Dr. Lecter.” 

“See now, that’s interesting.” Margot mulled over this. “Did he have it coming?” Will debates answering that and doesn’t.

“What do you think?” 

“I can't’ say that I know.” 

-

You sat patiently in your home. You were flipping through a book, wondering if you had the desire to put brain energy into reading it. You and Will were simply existing as you had been denied so long with the whole prison thing.

You had just decided to grab some food when your phone rang.

“Hello?” you asked, voice distracted as you walked to the kitchen. You walked over to Will and put your cheek against his shirt, kissing it lightly.

“Y/N?” Hannibal spoke. You pulled away from Will slowly but he noticed your hesitation for the phone call.

“Yes?” 

“I need you to do me a favor.” Will looked at you but you didn’t look at him.

“Yeah?” 

“I need you to come into the office and grab a very important thing I forgot. I would go myself but I have dinner boiling and I hate to ruin a good dish.” You nodded and glanced at Will. 

“Alright. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Text me the details.” You hung up the phone. “I have to get something for Hannibal and bring it to him,” you told Will.

“This late?” 

“He said it was important.” You slipped on your shoes. “You wanna come?” He shook his head and gestured to the dogs.

“I’ll hang out with the dogs.” You nodded and grabbed a jacket. 

“Be safe,” you said and he gave you a look. You walked out onto the porch and started toward the car when you stopped. You looked out at the darkness of the woods and came to a slow stop. 

Something was wrong. 

You weren't sure what but something was wrong. You got into the car and forced the feeling out of your mind. It was probably nothing. You pulled out of the driveway and started down the road.

You made it about two minutes before you felt an overwhelming urge of dread. You closed your eyes for just a second before turning around in the dead end street, going back to the house. You saw Will running back into the house as you pulled up, Buster in his hand and the rifle in the other. You parked quickly and ran inside after him. 

“Will?” you called. He met your eyes and you looked down at the Buster who seemed hurt. “What-” Will grabbed your arm and pulled you toward him before pushing him behind the counter.

The window broke.

-

You sat in a chair at the dinner table of Hannibal’s home. Will stood behind the chair of the head of the table. 

Hannibal opened the door and you both looked up at him. Hannibal's eyes landed on the dead body of the man who Will had killed this evening. The man that you had helped him kill. The man who had attacked you in your home.

“I send someone to kill you,” Will started. “You send someone to kill me.” 

The air was tense. You were tense. They were tense.

“Even steven.”

2x10

[thegreatestofheck]

breathe again |Derek Morgan|

word count - 5850 warnings - mentions of blood, kidnapping, physical assault, panic attacks, death, ptsd, and it’s unedited pairings - derek morgan x fem!reader (3rd persion)  synopsis - he saved her life and now she has to deal with the aftermath. he’s there to help her every step of the way.  a/n - so i’ve been MIA. college was kicking my booty hind, I was lacking any and all inspiration, and i’ve just been mentally not well. This week was kinda horrible in that my abuser died on sunday, my birthday was on tuesday (not my favorite day of the year), and I spent 16 hours in the car with my family so I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. this fic is mostly for me, just a healing fic revolving around one my my favorite men. if no one reads it, that’s gucci. be on the look out for a reid one too because your girl is sad. thank you all for being so patient with me. and i’m so sorry to everyone i’ve disappointed while i’ve been away. hopefully i’ll have some routledge!readers out soon. 

______

A quiet whimper came from her mouth, but her eyes remained shut. 

When Agent Spencer Reid opened the door, his gun out and cocked, he shouldn’t have been so shocked as he was. He had seen the other girls, how they had been cut up before they were killed, how there wasn’t a place on their body that hadn’t been slashed. But something about seeing the woman strapped to the table, bleeding from almost every inch of her body, made a shiver go up his spine.

At the sound of the door opening, her weary eyes opened. She thought it was him, but she was surprised to see the agent standing there all the same. For a few seconds, she thought she was imagining it. She had been seeing people for days, but she could always blink them away. When she closed her eyes and opened them again, he was still standing there. Maybe the blood loss was finally getting to her. 

She closed her eyes again and turned her head to the side, refusing to get her hopes up again. He wasn’t real, he wasn’t there. 

She was going to die. 

Spencer Reid shook away the shock that held him in place. Stepping into the room, he holstered his gun and walked toward the woman. 

“Morgan,” he said into his walkie talkie. “Morgan, I found her. Back room.” 

“Good job, kid.” 

At the sound of his voice, the woman opened her eyes up again, blinking slowly. He reached her, immediately fiddling with the straps that kept her tied to the bed. 

“Are you real?” She asked, her voice broken and quiet. 

“My name is Spencer Reid,” he said. His voice was kindly and warm, but worried. “I’m going to get you out of here.” 

She nodded her head slowly. She let out a gasp of relief when the first of the straps released her. Spencer ran around to the other side and started to work on the other strap. As soon as her other wrist was freed, she brought both hands up to her chest. Wearing nothing but her undergarments was one thing in front of a deranged serial killer. It was another thing completely in front of a Federal Agent. 

Spencer started to work on the straps on her ankles, but before he could unlatch her, the man who had taken her appeared behind him and smacked him across the head with a pipe. 

The woman felt fear run through her veins, not even able to cry out as the agent crumpled to the side. Now the man stood above her, seething like a rabid dog. 

“You are never getting out of here,” he said. 

He plucked a knife up off of the table beside her. The woman refused to close her eyes. If he was going to kill her, he was going to be haunted by her eyes for the rest of his damned life. He lifted the knife into the air and the woman didn’t flinch. Before he could bring down the knife to kill her, someone ran into him from the side, knocking him off of his feet. 

The woman couldn’t see who it was who tackled him, but at the moment it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting out of the straps. Her hands were shaking, but she did what she could. She could hear the two men fighting, things breaking, grunts of pain. All she could do was get herself unstrapped. 

Once both of her ankles were free, the woman rolled off of the table, landing painfully on the ground. The cuts across her body pulled, blood running down her skin. She crawled over to Agent Reid, who was out cold on the ground. Clutching a pulsing arm to her chest, the woman grabbed hold of Reid’s arm and tried to pull him out of the way of the fight. She lay his head in her lap, placing her blood hands on the sides of his face. 

“Wake up,” she whispered. “Please don’t be dead.” 

The agent let out a quiet groan, letting her know that he was at least alive. Her kidnapper had managed to pin the other agent to the ground, picking up the knife from the ground. 

“No,” the woman breathed. 

She slid herself out from underneath Spencer, wincing against the pain of her stretching cuts. She plucked up the pipe of the ground and swung at his head with every ounce of strength that she had in her body. She heard the crack of his skull and he fell to the side. The agent on the ground breathed heavily, staring up at her. There was a cut on his cheek, but he didn’t seem to care much about it. 

The woman let the pipe fall from her hand, all the strength that adrenaline had given her fading. Her knees gave out underneath her and she started to fall. Luckily, the agent was fast. He sat up and caught her before she hit the ground. Her body began to shake, maybe from the pain, maybe from the cold, maybe from the weakness in her limbs. 

“You’re okay,” he said. “It’s over.” 

“It’s over?” 

“Yeah. You’re safe.” She noted how kind his smile was. “What’s your name?” 

“Y/N.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. My name is Derek Morgan and I’m going to keep you safe.” 

Y/N nodded her head as her eyes began to flutter shut. She could hear him call out quietly for Spencer and that was it before she was consumed by unconsciousness. 

****

Y/N sat in her apartment, consumed by the darkness around her. Her hands shook as she wiped away tears that fell from her eyes. It was just one of those days when all she could remember was the face of the man who had carved into her like she was a slab of meat, when she looked at her body, all she could see was the puckered scars that covered her skin. These were the days when she would pick up her phone and call Morgan, though she tried to avoid it. He had given her his number after she left the hospital for a reason, but she knew that his job was taxing, that she couldn’t just pour all of her problems onto him. 

But tonight she just needed to hear his voice, just to have him remind her that she’s okay, that she’s safe and alive and still human. 

She picked up her phone, searching through her contacts through blurry eyes. A few tears dropped from her eyelashes as she held the phone to her ear. It rang only twice before she hung up and threw her phone to the other side of the couch. She was a burden to him, she just knew it. And therapy wasn’t helping, it just made her feel like a helpless victim who was forever going to be stuck where she was. 

She curled her legs up to her chest, tucking her face between her knees. She tried to stop the sobs from shaking through her body, but the more she tried to stop them from coming, the faster and harder they came. 

Her phone started buzzing, making her lift up her head. Y/N wiped away a few tears, crawling across the couch toward her phone. She picked it up, sniffling. Morgan was calling her back. She let out a sigh before pressing the green answer button and putting the phone to her ear. 

“Hi,” she said, clutching a pillow to her chest. 

“Hey, Y/N.” 

“Hi.” 

“How are you doing?” He asked, knowing full well that the answer would be ‘not good’. 

“I’m doing fine,” she lied, gnawing on her fingernail. 

“Y/N, talk to me.” 

“I don’t want to bother you,” she said, her voice going quiet. “You’ve got all your own things to deal with and I-” 

“The team and I are going out to eat. Come with us.” 

“Did you just come back from a case?” She asked. 

This was why she didn’t want to call. He had so much on his plate, who was she to add all of her problems too. 

“We did and now we’re going to celebrate. But I want you to come out with us.” 

“Derek, I….I can’t. It’s time with your friends.” 

“I’ll pick you up in thirty. It’ll be good for you and I promise you, you won’t be bothering anybody. They all want to know how you’re doing anyway.” 

Y/N breathed in deeply through her nose before nodding, even though he couldn’t see. 

“I’ll be ready.” 

“Good. And turn your lights on. The dark will just make you more sad.” 

She smiled. For as little as the two of them spoke since he and Reid saved her life, he seemed to know her better than anyone she had ever known. 

“Will do.”

“I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“See you.” 

She hung up, setting her phone face down on the couch. She stayed where she was for a few moments, giving herself time to breathe. Once her tears had dried, Y/N pushed herself off the couch and made for her room. 

****

“How was your case?” Y/N asked as she and Morgan walked down the street toward the pub. 

“It went better than most,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets to protect them against the cold wind. “Saved a few lives.” 

“That’s good.” She smiled down at her feet.

“How are you doing?” 

She breathed out heavily, her frosty breath billowing out in front of her. 

“I’m good.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously! Today was good. I started teaching the kids their choreography for the spring show and it seems like they like it.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

There was a moment of silence as Morgan waited for her to finish. 

“But,” she carried on, like she knew he wanted her to. “I went on a date earlier today. It didn’t go well. You know how it is.” 

“I know.” He was quiet again for a few moments. “Tell me about your class. How are the kids?” 

“We don’t have to talk about me the whole time,” she told him, her cheeks burning ever so slightly. 

“I want to. Makes me feel better.” 

Y/N smiled and tried to hide her blush in her scarf. But she started talking anyway. Morgan listened, as he always did. He asked a few questions here and there to keep her talking and laughed when she said something funny. As she walked beside him, Y/N realized that maybe having her talk about her normal day wasn’t really to help her, but because it helped him. 

When they made it to the pub, she slowed to a stop. Morgan didn’t realize she stopped for a few paces, but once he noticed her absence, he turned around to look at her. She was looking up at the name of the pub, the lights reflecting in her eyes. He walked back toward her and put a gentle hand against her elbow. 

“Don’t worry about them,” he said. “They’ll love you.” 

She tore her gaze away from the sign and met his dark eyes, feeling her heart pound within her chest. 

“You think so?” 

“I know so.” 

She smiled again, feeling a burst of confidence. She nodded her head and took a step toward the front door. Morgan smiled as he followed in after her. It wasn’t that hard to find Morgan’s team, sitting around a table together and laughing. Fear struck at her again. She hadn’t been out much in the months since she had come back from the trial. She didn’t really hang with very many people before she’d been taken anyway. 

She didn’t have much of a chance to hesitate before Penelope Garcia, the computer whiz who had been the first one to make her laugh after she’d been saved. 

“Y/N!” she cried, lifting her glass of wine into the air. 

The others promptly turned around, calling out in each their own way. 

“Hi,” she said to them as she walked over, Morgan right behind her. 

She could feel one of his arms brush against her shoulder and it gave her enough strength to smile. 

“How are you?” Emily asked as Y/N slid into a chair next to her. 

“Good!” she replied, feeling her grin become something more real. “It’s been a long few weeks, but things are going well.” 

“Your apartment treating you nicely?” Rossi took a sip of red wine from his glass. 

“I love it,” she told him. “I don’t think I could ever thank you enough for helping me pay for it.” 

There was a glint in Rossi’s eye that told her she never had to say thank you again. Morgan slid into the seat next to her, draping his arm over her chair. Him being so close gave her a little bit of strength. 

The night carried on with drinks and food and laughter. Even Aaron Hotchner, who had intimidated Y/N all the way through her trial, was smiling along with the rest of them. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to look at Spencer, for whatever reason. Every time she saw him, all she could see was the bloody hand prints she left on his face that stained his skin for days. Emily and Penelope and JJ made Y/N feel like she had been friends with them for as long as they had been friends with each other. 

Things were going well until she made direct eye contact with Spencer. Her heart jumped up into her throat and she felt suddenly like she couldn’t breathe. She mumbled something about going to the bathroom before shimmying past Morgan and making a break for the restroom. 

She burst into the bathroom already breathing heavily, tears stinging in her eyes. She closed them and saw the blood all over again, felt the tearing of her skin, the sting of the blade. Bile rose in her throat and she gagged, slapping a hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting in the sink. Her head swam and her nose stung and her knees felt weak. 

There was a knock at the bathroom door and Y/N looked up, eyes still swimming with tears. She expected it to be one of the girls walking in to check on her, but when she opened her door, she found herself face to face with Spencer Reid. 

“Oh, hey, Spencer,” she said, furiously wiping away the tears with the back of her long sleeve. 

“Y/N,” he replied. “Morgan told me to find you.” 

“Did he?” She asked, her jaw clenched. 

“You wouldn’t look at me and when you did, you ran away. I may not understand a lot of social cues, but I think that means I did something wrong.” 

She shook her head quickly, still not able to meet his eyes. 

“No, you didn’t do anything. It’s just me.” Spencer was silent, as if waiting for her to elaborate. With a heavy sigh, she finally looked up at his face. “It’s my fault you got that concussion, Spencer. He wouldn’t have targeted you if you hadn’t been trying to save me. And I look at you and I see my blood on your face and it just….”

“Post traumatic stress is common in victims of attempted murder, especially in a case so bad as yours,” he said. “Hallucinations, nightmares, trouble breathing, all of that is common signs of PTSD so what you’re experiencing isn’t just you.” 

Y/N let her eyes flutter shut as she clamped down another vicious round of nausea. 

“But that’s not helpful,” Spencer said after clearing his throat. “It’s not your fault, what happened to me or what happened to you.” 

“It just feels like every second that I’m still affected by what he did, he wins. That it proves I’m not strong enough,” she told him.

She wasn’t really sure why she felt like she could talk to him so openly.

“Well, I can’t convince your brain of anything but I can tell you that I’ve saved a lot of people and most of them would have seen that open door and ran. But you stayed. You were bleeding out and you stayed to help me and Morgan. You probably saved both of our lives. That sounds like strength to me.” 

She blinked a few times, taken back by his words. She hadn’t even considered it. When she had gotten out of the restraints, she had seen the open door, but it had never occurred to her to run away. She scowled, glancing down at his feet. 

“I’ll leave you to your, uh, bathroom.” 

With that, Spencer left the doorway, walking back toward the others. Y/N let the bathroom door close, standing in front of the sink to stare at her reflection in the mirror. For so long, she had only seen the weakness in what she had done. She thought about how often she cried, how loud she screamed, how she had begged. She had convinced herself a strong person wouldn’t have done that. A strong person would have fought back, made his life as much hell as he made hers. A strong person wouldn’t have cried on the stand, wouldn’t have panic attacks every time something mildly inconvenient happened. 

But maybe she had been wrong. Maybe her strength had nothing to do with what she did in the moment, but in the surviving afterward. Every second that she breathed free air was a victory, every second that she lived longer than the man who had hurt her was a sign of strength and not weakness, no matter how ugly those seconds were.

Breathing in deeply, Y/N left her place at the sink and abandoned the bathroom to rejoin her friends. Morgan greeted her with a smile as she returned, but the others carried on their conversation as she took her seat. 

She spent the rest of the night smiling. She could look at Spencer and maybe she still saw the blood stains, but she could look past them and see the man underneath, the man who had saved her life. And Morgan kept his arm behind her back, just close enough that she knew that he was there. 

He walked her back to her apartment that night once everyone else had left. 

“You talk to Reid?” 

Y/N could tell that this was a question that Morgan had been waiting to ask since she came back from the bathroom. 

“I did,” she said, watching the sidewalk beneath her feet. 

“And?” 

“And it was good. He’s a good kid.” 

“Yeah, he is.” 

They were quiet again. He could tell by her change in demeanor alone that the short conversation with Spencer had done a lot for her. 

“You want to tell me about that date you went on?” He asked. 

She was startled by his question, not because it was beyond him to ask, but because she had forgotten about the date altogether. 

“Oh, um….” She scowled, trying to recall. “There was nothing wrong with the guy...I actually never met him. I got stuck getting dressed. We were going out to dinner and then we were going to see an opera, so I wanted to look nice, but I couldn’t find a single formal dress that would cover up all of my scars and I cancelled on him. I didn’t want him to see all the ugly, I guess.” 

Morgan let out a sigh, but she knew that it wasn’t a sound of disappointment. She glanced up at him and saw that he was thinking, his jaw tightening and relaxing. He didn’t say anything else as he walked her back to her apartment building, all the way up the stairs and to her front door. 

“Thank you for walking me back,” she said, unlocking her door and dropping the key into her pocket. 

“I think he would have loved to meet you,” Morgan said, looking down at his feet, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. 

“What?” 

“Your date tonight. I think he would have loved to meet you, no matter what you wore.” 

“Derek-” 

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.” 

She froze, her breath stopping in her throat. After spending hours every morning staring at her closet and the mirror, hoping to find something that would cover every single scar on her body, which was impossible. Morgan lifted a hand from his pocket and brushed his thumb over the scar that ran along her jaw, the one she was never able to cover. Y/N’s eyes closed at his touch, the heat from his hand spread warmth throughout her chilled body. He rested his hand against her cheek. 

They both knew that he should have taken his hand back, shoved it back into his pocket, and walked away. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned down toward her. Her heart skipped a beat as his lips grazed against hers. She wanted to open her eyes, to make sure that she wasn’t imagining it. But even if the kiss was all in her mind, she didn’t want to know it. 

When he pulled back, Y/N kept her eyes closed for a few seconds, trying to hold on to the barest hint of warmth that he left her with. 

She opened her eyes finally only to see that he wasn’t looking at her, his eyes fixed on the ground again. She thought that he was ashamed of kissing her or maybe she didn’t live up to what he had thought. Still, she wanted to kiss him again, if he would let her. He slid his hand from her cheek and let it fall back to his side.

“Do you...want to come inside?” she asked. 

It wasn’t until he looked at her that she realized why he had refused to meet her gaze. It wasn’t shame or regret, but something deeper, something that he had been trying to fight since he first got to know her. 

She didn’t need to ask him again because his answer was already there in the deepness of his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her again, not as timid as before and with more force. He brought his hands up to her face again, his palms against her jaw. His momentum sent her backward into the door and a quiet gasp came from her. 

She searched for the doorknob with her hand, but her mind was elsewhere. With Morgan’s lips against hers, that was all she could think about. She finally got the doorknob twisted as Morgan pulled the scarf from around her neck. They collapsed into the dark apartment, one of his hands now on her waist and her fist curled around the collar of his shirt. 

With the door shut, Morgan pulled off his coat and discarded it onto the ground. Y/N followed suit. He reached out for her and took her by the waist as if any second apart from her was a second wasted, as if he couldn’t stand not touching her. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck just as desperately. 

Morgan hoisted her upward just as they reached the back wall and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kept her pinned against the wall so even when he pulled away from the kiss she wouldn’t fall. 

“Is this okay?” He asked her. 

“God, yes,” she breathed, almost embarrassed by how relieved she sounded. 

A smile stretched across Morgan’s face as his hands found the bottom of her shirt, pulling it off over her head. Y/N’s first instinct was to cover herself with her arms, but Morgan pushed himself forward to kiss her again before she could even try. 

His kisses trailed away from her lips, his lips and teeth finding the skin of her jaw. He nipped his way down her neck, finding the soft of her skin that made her squirm. Any thought of all the scars that he could see was gone. All she could think about was his warm hands against her cold skin, his lips against her neck. She helped him remove his shirt, keeping her hands on his shoulders so she could admire the lines of his muscles, the smooth of his skin. 

Morgan moved back, away from the wall, one hand on the small of her back and the other on her thigh to keep her steady. She kept her lips locked with his, his tongue flicking across her bottom lip. Y/N pushed her bedroom door open and it was only a few more steps to her bed. Morgan laid her down gently against the soft blankets. 

She stared up at him, breathing heavily. His eyes were dark and full of desire and she imagined that hers looked no different. 

His hands rested on either side of her, but not touching her. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, his voice quiet. She nodded her head, sucking on the inside of her lower lip to keep herself quiet. “I need to hear you say it, baby.” 

“Yes, yes,” she said breathlessly. “Are you?” 

“I’m sure of nothing else.” 

He lifted a hand to hook a finger under her chin, tilting her head back so he could capture her lips again. Almost in sync, the two of them crawled further onto the bed until her head rested against her pillow. He unhooked the button of her pants and Y/N felt her heart rate spike through the roof. She was pretty sure she blacked out the entire time he was taking off her pants. By the time she found herself again, he was kneeling in front of her, just staring.

She had been this exposed in front of him only once before, but under completely different circumstances. He had been holding her in his lap, his voice the only thing that she could cling to as she fought to keep herself alive. Not only that, but she had been covered in blood. Once again, she felt the need to cover herself up again. This time though, Morgan grabbed her wrists and pinned them beside her head. 

“You are beautiful,” he said again, his eyes tracing her body before finding her gaze once again. “All of you.” 

Y/N fought the urge to cry. It wasn’t grief that brought tears to her eyes but the fact that the sincerity behind his words almost made her believe him. 

“Derek.”

She stretched upward to kiss him gently, a single tear sliding out of her eye. 

And once that moment of calm had passed, there wasn’t a second more. She needed no more reassurance and he needed no more affirmation that she knew what she wanted. There was no holding back for either of them. 

By the time that Y/N woke up the next morning, her body ached, but it was the kind of ache that felt good, that reminded her what she had done. Light flitted in through the window as she rolled onto her back, tangled up in her own bedsheets, a smile on her face. 

She breathed in deeply, inhaling the pleasant smell of cooking bacon. She shot upward, looking over to find that her bed was empty aside from herself. Sliding out of the bed, she pulled on the flannel that was by her bed and shuffled out to the main bulk of her apartment, where the living room and kitchen was. 

Her cheeks burned hot at the sight of half of her clothes discarded on the ground leading to her bedroom. She lifted a hand to cover her smile as the memory played through her mind. 

“Morning.” 

Y/N spun toward the kitchen, where Morgan was standing, fully clothed, by the stove. Y/N pulled at the bottom of her shirt, suddenly conscious of how short it was. 

“Hi,” she replied, walking toward him. “Smells good.” 

“I hope you don’t mind me raiding your cupboards,” he told her, opening an arm up for her. She settled in next to him, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. 

“I don’t mind,” she said before breathing in deeply again. “How did you sleep?” 

“For as little sleep as we did get?” Y/N’s cheeks burned again at the thought of it. “Slept good. How about you?” 

“The soundest I have in a long while.” 

Morgan’s phone ran from the counter top. Y/N took the spatula from his hand while he went toward his phone. 

“Agent Morgan,” he said. 

Y/N found herself smiling. She loved the way he said his own name, almost as much as she loved the way he said hers. 

“Got it. I’ll be there soon.” Morgan flipped his phone shut and looked up at Y/N, an apology already forming in his eyebrows. 

“Don’t worry about me,” she told him before he could even say anything. “It’s your job. I’ll be fine.” 

“Thank you for understanding.” 

He walked back toward her to press one final kiss against her forehead. 

“Take some bacon,” she told him, which he obliged to willingly. “Stay safe.” 

Morgan smiled back at her one last time, swiping his jacket off the ground, before disappearing through her front door. 

****

A week later, Y/N was sitting on her couch in the dark, not because she was sad, but because the TV was on and she liked it dark when she watched TV. With a bowl of popcorn in her lap, she watched the figures on the screen move about. She was watching a documentary about a newly found tomb in Egypt. She had never been interested in any kind of documentaries until all of her favorite shows began reminding her about everything she hated about the world. Maybe one day she would be able to watch them again, but for now, she was satisfied with learning. 

A knock came to her door. Y/N’s heart leaped. She hadn’t been expecting anyone and any time anything unexpected happened, she found herself scared all over again. She set her popcorn off to the side and shut off the TV, sitting quietly where she was as she waited from her breathing to find a steady rhythm again. 

Once she could no longer hear her heart pounding in her ears, Y/N stood from the couch, shuffling toward the front door. She was already in her pajamas, an old t-shirt and pair of shorts, so she was really hoping that it was not a delivery guy, even though she hadn’t ordered anything. 

She pulled the door open, allowing for one more deep breath. 

But it wasn’t a delivery guy and it wasn’t a stranger coming to take her again. It was just Derek Morgan. 

She almost smiled at the sight of him, but when she saw the look on his face, her eyebrows knit together instead. 

“Derek-” 

“Can I come in?” 

She nodded her head, pushing the door open even wider. 

“Of course.” 

She reached out and took his hand leading him into her apartment, shutting the door behind him. 

“It’s dark in here,” he said, looking up absently at the lights. 

“I was watching TV,” she assured him. “Come sit with me.” 

He followed her, almost dragging his feet as she led him to her room. She kept the lights off and he didn’t complain. She sat on the edge of the bed and so did he. Never once did she let go of his hand. 

“What happened?” she asked in a hushed tone. 

Almost as soon as she spoke, Morgan fell apart. His face crumpled and tears squeezed out of his eyes. He pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes as he tried to control his breathing. Y/N felt her own heart break inside her chest, pressing her forehead against the side of his head. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe here.” 

Morgan turned toward her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and pulling her toward him. She was startled by his sudden motion, but as soon as she recovered, she wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. 

“It’s okay,” she said again. “I’m going to keep you safe.” 

His words had played in her head all throughout her surgeries and trial. Every time she thought she was going to die, every time she wanted to give in, she heard his words, kind words for a stranger he had never met before.

She held him in the dark as he cried, grazing her nails across his back until his sobs began to quiet, until his breathing became steady again. He pulled away from her and she took his hand again. She closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss against her forehead. 

“Will you tell me what happened?” She asked him. 

Morgan sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“A lot of people died today,” he told her, his voice hoarse. “Even the guy who did it. All those lives lost and I….” 

He choked and she saw a tear glint in the barest light of the moon. She put her hand on his cheek and turned his face to look at her. 

“How many lives?” She asked him. 

“What?” 

“How many people died?” 

“Six.” 

“And how many people did you save?” 

Morgan’s eyebrows pinched together. His eyes left hers and she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone. 

“I...I don’t know,” he said finally. 

“I can’t imagine how it must feel thinking you have to carry the lives of all those people on your back. But I can tell you how much it means to those who survive that you do the job you do. You saved lives, Derek Morgan. You did good.” 

Morgan let out a shaky sigh. 

“And you don’t have to carry anything alone anymore,” she continued. “I’m here now and I will help you every step of the way, anyway you need me to.” 

Without saying another word, Morgan leaned forward and pressed a teary kiss to her lips. 

“Can you just hold me?” He asked, his forehead resting against hers. 

“Of course.” 

She lay back against her pillow and he leaned his head against her chest. He draped an arm over her stomach and tucked his hand underneath her back. Y/N let her fingers trail up and down the back of his neck. He shifted a few times before settling, letting the beating of her heart sing him to sleep like a lullaby. 

Even after he fell asleep, Y/N stayed awake, staring up at the ceiling. She was overwhelmed with a feeling that she couldn’t quite explain. It filled her chest, stretched out through her limbs, bounced around her mind. She tried to put a thought to the feeling, but she couldn’t. All she could do was let it consume her. 

And after months of pain and misery and fearing every shadow, Y/N finally felt like she could breathe again. 

[genevievemd]

Touch

A/N: Takes place in chapter 20, a couple hours after Ethan goes to Leland’s office. I really hate that we never got any sort of reaction from MC or Ethan with the Blooms situation and I really needed it. So I wrote my own lol 

This is basically just MC having a sort of ptsd/anxiety attack and going to Ethan for help and comfort. I used myself as my guide to how MC deals with it. So basically what I do and how I deal when I’m having an anxiety attack is what I did for MC.

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Genevieve McClure)

It started out slow, just a droplet of dread settling at the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t put a finger on what exactly it was that brought it on. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of what the hospital would be like under Leland Bloom or it could have been the moment she saw Leland reach for his wife only to remember that they could no longer touch. 

Whatever the trigger was, by midday it had completely taken over. Genevieve’s entire body buzzing with anxiety and fear. Gnawing at her insides like a rabid dog. She did her best to conceal it from her patients, to not let them see her struggling to stay focused. 

But by her fifth patient of the day, it became too much to hide. Genevieve left the room as quickly as she could, marching to the nurses station to find some sort of solid ground. 

“Dr. McClure, are you alright?” 

She can barely make out the voice calling her from behind the desk. Genevieve’s heart beat pounding in her ears like a drum, drowning out everything but the voices of distress in her head.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It was a lie, and a terrible one at that. There was no way the nurse didn’t see how badly her hands where shaking, how unfocused Genevieve’s gaze had become. “Do you know where Dr. Ramsey is?” 

“In the diagnostics office, if I’m not mistaken.” 

She felt a quick burst of relief. Ethan was the only thing that seemed to ease her in moments like this, when her mind rushes back to the assassination attempt and she can’t settle the rush of pure fear. Knowing he was mostly likely alone and able to help her right the ship was like seeing the light at the end of a very dark tunnel. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Mhm.” It’s all she dares to say, the lump in her throat feeling more constricting by the second.

Genevieve quickly drops the chart in her hand, turning on her heels and making her way to the elevator. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, trying her best to draw as little attention to herself as possible. 

It still felt like everyone looked at her like she was a porcelain doll. Fragile and weak and only one mishap away from shattering.

Genevieve makes it to the glass office in record time, quietly opening and closing the door. She had been right before, Ethan is alone. He’s sitting at the desk surrounded by papers and files. She keeps her steps slow and measured, making her way across the room until she’s standing at his side. 

He doesn’t look up right away, choosing instead to take off his glasses and get up from the chair before fully acknowledging her.  “I was just about to come look for you, we have a - what happened?”

It's clear he can see the fear in her eyes, the tears that sit just a blink away, by the sudden change in his demeanor. Genevieve doesn’t waste another moment, tucking herself against him, giving up the fight and letting the anxiety take over. His response is quick, wrapping his arms tightly around her, hand running up and down her back. 

She’s almost certain he can feel the rapid beat of her heart, the tremors under her skin. 

“Genevieve, what’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head slightly, pressing herself further into his embrace, trying to focus only on his heartbeat like she had that night. It was muted through plastic then, but it’s clear now. Steady and unwavering. 

Ethan tightens his arms around her even more, placing a kiss to the top of her head. “How bad is it?” His tone is gentle, but laced with worry. There’s a small comfort in knowing she doesn’t have to say anything for Ethan to recognize what’s going on. He’s been quick to pick up on the signs, the little things she does right before the dam breaks and she’s right back to that night.

“I’m - I’m fine.” 

“I can feel you shaking. You’re not fine.” Ethan leans back just the slightest bit, eyes roaming over her face. “How bad is it, Gen?”

“Not as bad as last time. I don’t feel tingly or anything, just…”

He strokes her cheek with his thumb, the softness of his touch making her eyes close with relief. “Do you want to go outside? Take a walk?”

“No.”

“What do you need?” 

“You.” Her eyes start to well with tears again and she tries her best to swallow them back. “Just hold me for a minute. Please?”

Ethan responds with a nod, pulling Genevieve back into the shelter of his arms. She rests her head against his chest, her hands grabbing the back of his white coat like a life line . One of his hands travels up her back, slowly pulling her hair out of the elastic band. Her breath is ragged, letting out a deep sigh as she closes her eyes. The pressure of his fingers combing through her hair is gentle and methodical, sending a wave of relief over her. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles quietly, more to herself than to him. The nagging thought of being an absolute burden and annoyance to him creeping its way back into her head.

“Don’t apologize. I’ve told you countless times, whatever it is you need to feel safe and grounded, we’ll do it. Regardless of how frivolous or bothersome you may think it is.”

He’s right, over the past six months, Ethan has been nothing short of supportive. Doing whatever she needs, without complaint, to make her feel safe. Even if it was something as simple as making her dinner, or holding her hand or letting her wake him in the middle of the night so she doesn’t cry alone. His presence and touch were her saving grace, her north star. And as their relationship progressed, Genevieve knew she never wanted to lose him. 

“Ethan, could you really go your whole life without being able to touch the person you love?” 

“What?”

“After we discharged Caroline, you said people can adapt to anything if they have to. Did you mean that?”

He sighs, loudly, taking a step back and guiding her towards the couch on the back wall. “Yes and no. From a professional and medical standpoint, yes a person can adapt when necessary.” They sit slowly, Ethan pulling her against him. “But, personally? No. I couldn’t handle suddenly not being able to touch you in any sort of capacity. One night of that was more than enough proof.”

“Yeah, neither could I.” 

“Is that what triggered it, seeing Leland and Caroline?” 

“I think so, but I can’t remember exactly what started it this time.” 

She can feel her breathing steady, her heart no longer beating out of her chest. Finally feeling safe enough to leave the security of Ethan’s space, she sits up. Genevieve looks down to fix her coat when she feels Ethan’s hand on her cheek. He has that look on his face, as he wipes the smudged mascara from under eyes, the one that makes her feel so incredibly loved. Cherished. 

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Always.”

She leans forward, pressing her lips to his. It’s soft and sweet, another gentle reminder that with him she is safe and protected. That no matter what, he is on her side and ready to fight whatever should come her way. 

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

a/n: Hope you guys liked this little bit of comfort. I really hate that we never got to see MC really dealing with the attack. Like it happened and we talked about it for, what, like two chapter after that? And then never again. 

Anyway, love you guys so much! -Sara

tag list: 

@queencarb, @overwhelminglyaquarius, @me-and-my-choices, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @crazy-loca-blog, @a-crepusculo, @drakewalkerfantasy, @ohchoices, @adrex04, @udishaman, @drariellevalentine, @custaroonie, @archxxronrookie, @terrm9, @maurine07, @openheartthot, @gryffindordaughterofathena, @aworldoffandoms

LMK if you want to be added or taken off the list :)

[fortune-fool02]

Affectionate Nights

Werewolf Speedwagon x female reader

Requested by: anonymous

“Could I request werewolf Speedwagon x reader who finds out what he is when she stays to late with him and he's terrified and even though she's a little frightened at first from the shock she tries to stay because she doesn't want him to be in pain changing alone? He's scared of hurting her but it ends up with fluffy cuddles? I need that bit of angst with fluff for my boy 😤👌”

“May I request werewolf Speedwagon, but this time it's fluff, like when he turns into a werewolf he's more affectionate and wants some physical touch, like hugs”

Werewolf AU 

Warnings: Bit of angst, fluff

Seeing as I had two requests that were similar to each other, I decided to put them together. I hope that you won’t mind for this. Thank you. Please enjoy.

When Speedwagon first met [Name], he felt his heart get snatched away the moment their eyes locked. There was something about her that made him feel safe, that he could let his guard down around and he could not be any happier with that. It was a pleasant change of pace to the life he has known.

The two spent so much time together. Every moment he could spare, he was by her side. Every morning, she was in his arms, snuggling against him in the night. She was his shoulder to lean on and he did his best to reciprocate that to her. [Name] was no fling or anything like that, Speedwagon cared for her as he has cared for no one else before. The way she laughed at his stories was enough to make his heart flutter with butterflies. 

Sadly, with how occupied his mind was with his new light in life, he was forgetting something very important. 

***

Soft laughter rumbled from the blonde male and the [Hair colour] female, the air of the living room was warm and relaxing. They had spent the day out and about in the more safer areas of London, enjoying each other’s company, and Speedwagon had invited her back to his home for the night which was not uncommon. [Name] trusted Speedwagon, he has made no forced advancements to her nor emotionally twisted her into doing anything she didn’t want to. 

That was what she loved about him -one of the many things- was that he was caring, he wanted her to feel safe with him. He wanted to protect her. 

“I swear you will always be able to surprise me, Speedwagon.” [Name] smiled, leaning against his shoulder as they sat on the couch. The golden haired man smiled, running a hand through his long locks.

“I hope to, I enjoy hearin’ you laugh.” A soft redness dusted her cheeks at that, making him smile more. She was so sweet, sometimes he felt he didn’t deserve her. Someone like him from the slums of Ogre Street, but maybe that was the reason for why she seemed to lighten his life so much, like a candle in a dark room.

The two smiled at each other, slowly leaning closer before pressing their lips against one another. Speedwagon gently held her close, her lips were so soft and sweet against his, he could not help himself but deepen the kiss more. [Name] didn’t seem to mind as she showed no attempts to pull away. As Speedwagon went to continue with the kiss, a sharp pain struck through his chest like that of a knife would, igniting fear inside of him. 

He pushed [Name] away from him and practically jumped off of the couch to get away from her. Fear clouding his mind as the pains began to spread through his body. How could he have been so foolish to have forgotten? Confusion flooded her as she looked at him, pained groans escaping him as he hunched over, clutching his chest and desperately trying to remove his clothes as quickly as possible. 

“Speedwagon, what are you-?” [Name]’s words were cut off by a pained groan from the man, concern flowing through her body at this. 

“[N-[Name], y-you have to, Ah!, get outta here! Please!” Speedwagon forced out, feeling the waves of pain pulse through his body. He was such an idiot for forgetting the one sole reason why he kept his distance from people. Why he didn’t let people get too close anymore. Damnit! [Name] watched, eyes clouded with fear of this, yet she didn’t move from her seat, almost unable to. Seeing her lover in pain like this, it tugged at her heart and she just could not leave him to suffer alone. 

Speedwagon tried to speak, to beg her to escape before he had a chance to harm her, but the pain would not allow him to. His bones cracked and reformed, his body shifting in size and build with fur covering his skin. Claws grew from his nails as fangs grew from his mouth. [Name] could only watch in horror of this. When this transformation was complete, a large golden furred wolf was in place of where Speedwagon was. [Name] blinked, remaining frozen from this. 

“S-Speedwagon...?” she spoke, wariness coating her voice. She wanted to know if her beloved could still hear her in this form of this beast. The creature rose its head to her and lowly growled at her. Confusion plucked at the [Hair colour] woman at this, she could see those bright golden eyes glowing from where she was but, at the same time, she could see Speedwagon in them. He was still there. 

Slowly, she rose from her frozen state and cautiously approached the large wolf, her hand extended slightly. Speedwagon watched her, sniffing her hand when she was close enough, her scent filling his nose. The scent flooded his head and kept him grounded, this was not a threat nor prey, it was [Name]. His beloved. He looked away from her in shame. He had never wanted her to see him like this, he wanted her to know him as a man, not as a beast. God knows what she must think of him now. 

A soft, gentle touch rested on his head, catching his attention as confusion bounced around inside of him. Beside him, [Name] kneeled with her hand gently petting his head. All fear in her scent was gone, replaced with a soft concern for him. That sweet, warm smile that always made him feel safe and loved lifted her lips as she continued to gently pet him. 

“It’s alright, Robert. It’s okay.” Her words soothed the gnawing dread within his chest, she wasn’t afraid of him. How? Why? He was a beast, a monster. How could she sit there so calm about this? Despite this, Speedwagon only leaned into her touch, the feeling of her delicate fingers gently brushing through his fur held the same comforting feeling as it did when she would do this to his hair. 

He couldn’t help himself. With a soft whine, he turned and rested his head on her lap, leaning more into the comforting pets. She smiled at this then looked over at the couch. “Robert, let’s sit on the couch and continue with this. Okay?” As foolish as people might see this as, [Name] did not want to run or escape from him. Many would see him as this monstrous beast who would slaughter without hesitation but she could see him in those eyes, her Robert.

She loved him, and this was not going to change that. He nodded and stood upright, his form now towering over her now he stood on his legs properly. Still, she showed no fear to him, taking his clawed hand, she walked over to the couch and sat back down as she had earlier. Speedwagon slowly climbed on, cautious with his size and curled against her, his head resting on her lap again.

[Name] waited until he had settled down before she petted him again, his fur was much like his hair was in both colour and texture, soft and quite fluffy, which was ironic for a creature like him. Yes, she had read stories of werewolves but she knew that Speedwagon would never harm her in any way. She was pulled from her train of thoughts when he rolled onto his back, making a form of happy whine close to what a dog would make when she started to scratch his chest and neck. 

A soft laugh escaped her at this, the sound making Speedwagon feel calmer and more relaxed. “You like this, don’t you?” She asked, giving him a scratch around his neck and earning another happy whine from him. This was not how she imagined a werewolf encounter to be like. Rather than a savage, rabid beast, this was more like a giant dog encounter. It was adorable. Out the corner of her eye, she noticed his tail wagging from this, a soft warmth blooming from this. 

He looked up at her, panting happily before leaning up and licking her cheek a little, making her smile. “Ah, Robert. That was sly.” Her only response from the golden furred wolf was a small bark and that look in his eyes that held mischief. 

“You were right.” She said, confusion filled his eyes with a small head tilt at that, waiting for her to explain. “You will never stop being able to surprise me, love.” With that, she pressed a kiss on his head. She accepted him as this. She wasn’t afraid of him. She loved him. It was sudden for him and all he could do was snuggle closer to her, arms wrapping around her but mindful of his strength and claws. [Name] smiled and hugged him back, a secure, protected feeling washed over her. 

The two remained like that, holding one another and her giving him pets and scratches. In all his time, he didn’t think that this would be the outcome of [Name] finding out his secret. And, in truth, he could not have asked for a better outcome if he tried. 

[lamiasluck]

Empty Stomach

I did a prompt game with my best friend @emptynarration!! We took the same prompt to see how different we both interpreted it. The prompt was for a cannibal Author

Tags: @alvie-ashgrove @verse2wo @shy-marker-pliers @juju-on-that-yeet @m4delin @ferociousfangirlofmanyfandoms

Warnings: minor character death, cannibalism, gore, blood

-

Author was driving himself crazy with how much he tapped his pen against the desk. He was stuck on the same damn sentence for over ten minutes. This character wasn’t cooperating. If he had to rewrite the same command one more time, he was going to lose it. Always happened with the stronger ones. This character kept fighting back against the story. That dazed confusion soon turned stubbornness before Author could get past the second paragraph.

It was a pitch-black, cold night and Author just wanted this man to move forward. He slammed his fist on the table and growled in frustration. “God damnit!” His character defied him, again. He could hear the cocky dialogue from here.

“I’ll make my own path…” Author mocked the character under his breath. He scribbled something down aggressively. “I’ll show you a path.”

A heavy sigh left him as he leaned back in his chair. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and closed his eyes. This was taking longer than expected. This was supposed to be a quick die-by-mysterious-circumstances, not this boring slow burn. He should’ve gotten something to eat if he knew this was going to happen. Stupid him skipped lunch. Feeling lightheaded was the cherry on top of this never-ending nightmare.

His stomach growled with the need to eat, but his stubborn mind wanted, at least, one more paragraph. Each word, each letter, was slowly written with an impatient mind. He kept having to repeat himself after this guy constantly questioned him. He wanted a good story; was that too much to ask? Apparently so, according to these cruel circumstances.

“Fucking christ.” He panicked, standing up and looking out his window. There was a small head rush from his fatigue, but he had to push through it for this. “Don’t come here, dumbass!” The character was heading towards his cabin. This was far too soon in the story. Hell, Author hadn’t made the killer character yet, and maybe he wouldn’t have to this time.

The bat felt familiar in his hand as he gripped the handle. Its cold metal helped snap him out of his fatigue, enough that he could stomp outside in search of his character. Screw his notebook, at this point. All he could see was red in the near distance, there were footsteps; this character wasn’t the most sneaky. That oaf would’ve been perfect prey for some monster with those loud footsteps. Damn these circumstances. He made a beeline towards the sound.

It was a confusing sight for the character, definitely. One second he was trotting through the forest, naive as ever, and then in the next, he’s being confronted by some deranged man with a bat. Naturally, he acted defensive, going into a fighting stance and staring down Author. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, attempting to make his voice low.

“Shut up!” Author snapped. He spun his bat around and stalked forward. “I don’t want to hear another annoying word from you! You’ve ruined my story enough.”

That voice sounded familiar. Author’s little narrations were ringing in the character’s head the whole time. At first, it was confusing to hear, but after a while he just ignored Author. To think some rando was able to control him like that. He’d have to teach this ‘Author’ a lesson.

That blind confidence was still there, mixed in with endless confusion. “What’s your deal? Are you a demon or something?” If only he knew his words meant nothing.

Author raised his bat over his head. “Shut. Up.”

Writing down a death was one thing, killing with his own hands was another. The character couldn’t do much to defend himself against Author’s overwhelming anger. Or perhaps he was so hungry that he wanted this to be over as soon as possible. Most likely a mix of both.

His bat swung down harder with each hit, beating the character with a sickening crack that echoed through the forest, along with his plethora of curses that he yelled. He couldn’t care less over the blood splattering onto his clothes and face. The character’s shrieked pleads fell upon deaf ears; This man couldn’t do much besides take the beating. Author was rabid with his bat; wanting nothing more but to kill.

He wasn’t sure when the character stopped moving, but he eventually noticed that he caved this man’s face in. A popped out eye stared horrified at him, an expression that would stay permanently. The blood and visceral seeped into the ground in a silent river. That was one problem solved, he supposed.

“So you do have a brain…” Author chuckled weakly, poking the brain remnants with his bat.

All he could hear was his heart pumping in his ears from the adrenaline. He dropped his bat, before falling to his knees with a soft thud. The fatigue of hunger was really kicking his ass now, making him sway in place and hold his head. His character, or what’s left of him, laid motionless in a bloody mess of visceral and jutting out bones. The smell of fresh blood wafted through the air. He bit his lip as he realized he was salivating at the scent. He slowly lowered his hands, looking at his blood-stained hands. His stomach growled.

As he brought his hand to his mouth, he expected his stomach to churn in disgust. As he licked slowly along his index finger, he expected to recoil and spit out the blood. As he let the metallic taste spread across his tongue, he was surprised to find himself enjoying it.

Oh god, he enjoyed it.

Golden eyes carefully looked over the body, now in a new light. He reached over and held his character’s still hand, before dropping it and watching as it fell against the spilled blood. Like a child playing with his food. It looked mesmerizing to him, to the point where he had to stop himself from lapping up the blood like a rabid dog. He always imagined the wild animals here found the bodies he left and ate them. Why couldn’t he do the same? His mind was made up, so he grabbed his bat, as well as the man’s leg, and began going home. He could bear through his hunger one last time for this.

Kicking down his cabin’s door, he then dropped the body onto the floor. He was no butcher, but there was nothing wrong with learning a new skill. Though, he wasn’t sure what to eat. Organs? Limbs? Gnaw on the bones? Next time, if there will be one, he should research more on the edibility of humans. For now, he could just wing it in his kitchen and a hefty saw.

The saw sliced through his character’s thigh in jagged motions. As if he couldn’t get messier, blood shot out in spurts, staining the wooden floor further and nearly getting in his eyes. At least the red complimented his eyes. Eventually, he had a decent slab of meat in his hands he could cook. It was messy, but when he put it in the pan, it cooked nicely with a satisfying sizzle. The smell was hypnotizing him, wrapping around his mind as if he wasn’t already hungry enough. His meal might be a little undercooked, but should be fine. He never minded a little red in his steaks, after all.

Not even bothering to clean himself, Author sat at his table with a plate full of bleeding human meat. “I wonder if I can write a story with this,” he muttered while poking at it with a fork. Well, he couldn’t wait anymore, so he cut off a bite-size piece and popped it in his mouth. He visibly slacked as the taste of blood and meat spread across his taste buds. It was something he couldn’t quite pinpoint a comparison to. If he had to write it down, he debated thinking of this like pork or veal, maybe even a little like beef.

People always said an author put themselves in each of their characters, now Author could say he had a piece of a character in him. His meal was gone far too soon for his liking and soon he had an empty plate and a body on the floor. He looked at the body on the ground, humming in thought. He’d clean up his bones and throw them to the wolves. This should last him a while.

Next time, he’d find a place to butcher his meals so he can spare his floors. Next time, he’d gather the most edible characters, and they’re going to regret not cooperating with his stories. Next time, he was going to have a feast.

He couldn’t wait for more.

[sugar-petals]

:: BTS ◇ Being Their Werewolf Girlfriend

NOTE › @.btsxdoll​ reblogged a ‘where are the female werewolves in fantasy?’ post which inspired this. enjoy ♡

↳ warnings 🌙 dom/sub, smut, angst, marking, dash of humor

[ jimin ] ➝ He definitely knows that catchy Shakira song, even the Spanish version. But what a real she-wolf roaming his garden at 3 AM ends up being like will blow his mochi mind. Oh yes. It really is a whole new world. And holy shit, you are one hell of a gnarling beast on that lawn. Jimin will be honest with you: If he could, he’d probably brag on twitter all day that you have gigantic claws. That he’s allowed to touch them when you aren’t particularly wilding out somewhere in the local forest scratching pine trees or off to hang out with a fifteen-member, cigarette-smoking ghoul gang. 

But since it’s classified who you are, no tweets allowed. Sadly, he can’t meet the cool ghouls either. For obvious reasons though, he’d be too tasty a dinner, and he understands that you want to protect him. It’s already hard on you to have a kind of parallel life far from your control. Something so covert, scary, and taboo. Mingling with dangerous cemetary creatures for a night, only to return to a completely normal life. As if nothing happened! But cordial Jimin reassures you. Doesn’t make a hidden werewolf identity make someone the most interesting person ever? He couldn’t be a better boyfriend.  

[ taehyung ] ➝ It’s no secret that sweet Tae loves everything fluffy. The boy can’t lie, he likes your fur and muzzle. Every time you transform, he even keeps a diary entry on it. Keenly documenting everything he observes from characteristics to variations of behavior depending on the environment. You really could say he’s a werewolf biologist. He even discovers that if you eat red cabbage the with the moon waning, the transformation happens a lot faster than usual. Seriously, who could be better at dealing with any canine activity — large-scale, small-scale — than dog lover Taehyung. 

What he’s scared of and prevents a lot of cuddles are your, um, well. Huge dripping fangs and a bite force of five-hundred pounds per square inch to back it up. He has a reason to be careful. However, you’d rather devour some random suburb animals even in your worst of moods. Yeontan excluded. He likes you. It’s fun communicating with him. The world is interesting through werewolf eyes, but since it’s only for one night or two, Yeontan’s perspective is even more interesting since his form is permanent. Rascal sure knows a lot of gossip that would otherwise have never seen the light of day. 

[ jin ] ➝ Now, let’s set the record straight. If there’s one man on the face of this sordid planet who loves sizzling danger? It’s Worldwide Fearless on duty. Jin is the chosen one to have as a designated boyfriend. All his life he dreamed of eerie thrills like that, and it became true. Fate! The first night you were shocked to see your ears grow all fuzzy out of literal nowhere, but Jin knew he made the right dating choice. Your final form has the guy all fired up. He desperately wants to be bitten, growled at, paw-slapped, tossed around, walked on (!), licked head to toe. Long story short, he’s your #1 biggest were-fan.

But at the end of the day, no sexual feelings and acts involved. You’ve talked about that at length. To him, such conversations are normal, but which other couple ever talks about something as touchy. Jin would totally be a monster fucker if you weren’t completely beside yourself after transformation. So there is surely be no guarantee of what could happen. Especially with you being a very hungry lycanthrope raiding the basement. Which he neatly stocks up three days before the big event, and you can feast on it instead of turning this whole party into a literal “EatJin”. God forbid, you’d rather walk on him.

[ yoongi ] ➝ As cool as a cucumber. His mother raised a level-headed boy. When the moon is out there taking its monthly liberty to go off I guess, he sits on the porch with his phone’s lunar calendar and Rolex out, only waiting for shit to go down. Yes, he’s mastered all predictive methods. Sweet technology has made it easy for him. You always joke how Yoongi might as well open a ‘Were-Watching’ tourism business if the world were just a bit more open-minded and capitalism an ethical thing. Anyways. In the meantime, you’re busy hulking out in the cornfields and howling like there’s no tomorrow. 

Usually coming back for breakfast, hornier than the local elks in heat. Still with all rabid instincts half active, ready to pounce on what smells so good lying in your bed without pajamas on. Yoongi thinks he’s just one lucky dude not just getting all marked up, but occasionally salivated on when he’s waking up. Normally, sex would end up casual, but post-transformation banging is guaranteed to be energetic and sweaty beyond what he believed was possible. Which guy has his girlfriend plant herself on top of him baring her teeth like, well yeah, a fucking wolf? And he thought life would be endlessly boring.  

[ hoseok ] ➝ When you first approach him with your secret five months into the relationship, he thinks that you want to act out some hybrid fanfiction or roleplay. You say no Hoseok, I really am, y’know, huge and a dangerous ball of fur once in a while. But to no avail. To him, out of sight, out of mind. The oddly not-like-you-but-actually-you-shaped footprints around the garage don’t convince him. Hell, even the two-day ‘mountain vacation’ you take every four weeks doesn’t make Hoseok question that something very wolfy could be going on. “A wolf? Just drop by then!” he says, all nonchalant. 

So it takes the big wolf lady to knock on his window to prove that she’s not kidding and this is what he signed up for. He will take a while to digest things, reconsider his priorities. Is he prey, is he not? Tongue-in-cheek, you assure him that you only munch on the super built hikers who throw their trash into nature. You surely wouldn’t feel saturated eating a skinny guy. That does help Hoseok feel off limits in an unexpected way. There’s still much to get used to, but his chef talent can deal with your strong appetite surging every once in a while and he helps to remove the footprints so the neighbors don’t worry.

[ namjoon ] ➝ It’s like Fox Mulder seeing actual aliens land on earth. Hardly surprised. “Knew it!” is the final verdict when you confess to RM what’s going on. After some lightheaded pre-full-moon feelings make you rip up a sofa pillow at night. Entirely in a daze and pretty much close to howling already. Namjoon quickly understands the scope of peril and eventually opts for sleeping at Jimin’s if it gets a little too animalistic. Other than that, he’s well-informed. He might as well read ‘Mystic Creatures of Moderity′ in his favorite chair while you’re busy gnawing on a raw steak locking yourself in the kitchen.

Namjoon is happy to have something weird going on in his life to shake things up. It feels like a movie to him. Arguably, to others, it would be bizarre and both of you have to hide everything properly. Blasting funky disco music during your noisier transformations and such. Or pretending you’re a very well-crafted 3D robot Halloween costume which people do buy into. But some paranormal stuff happening in his backyard once a month? A whole lot of shed grey hair clogging the shower the day after transforming? Who gives a fuck, it’s just Joon’s girlfriend having a jolly good time. X-Files case closed. 

[ jungkook ] ➝ Admittedly... a bit obsessed. With seeing your full eight feet tall incarnation, doing some unhinged shit out in the woods. That’s sexy. But JK is also caring — you’re hypersensitive to anything silver and most other human interference, after all. Sure, his scent has been up close for a long enough time not to trigger you anymore, even in your full wolven form. But there are still risks involved. The angel promises to stay by your side regardless. And indeed: He’s gonna camp in a raised blind with binoculars to watch over you in the forest moonlight. No zookeeper will get their hands on you, promised. 

Jungkook really admires you in every aspect. No judgment. The animal enthusiast in him just can’t help it. Wolves in and of themselves are a huge interest to him, now he gets to know that you can grow paws, a tail and all that, the full package? Wow. He will never not be stunned. Jungkook wants to know everything about your kind. What you eat, how your heightened senses work, how you navigate your territory, what you feel. He also loves the thrill of adrenaline because boy do you go apeshit in the first couple hours of moonlight exposure. JK is a positive type of overwhelmed. The guy’s in love.

© 2017-2019 submissive-bangtan. All rights reserved. Do not repost, translate, or modify.

[animemangasoul]

I’ll Be There Because I Want To

Summery: Chuuya is late and Akutagawa wants to go look for him despite Dazai-san's disapproval.

In which Akutagawa is too worried about Chuuya to listen to anyone else.

Chapter 1/2

Gen

Akutagawa narrowed his eyes, brows furrowing at the top of his forehead in what almost resembled worry. Ignoring Dazai-san's instructions to the others for a second, he scanned their surroundings for the fifth time. Chuuya-san had yet to show up to the meeting spot.

Biting his lip in thought, he tried to tune out the weretigers annoying prattling. There had to be a reason why the older male hadn’t made it to the meeting spot right? He was most likely late. Still-

He couldn’t help but let the unsettling feeling gnawing at his stomach fill his mind with unease. It wasn’t like Chuuya-san to be late. And even if he was, he almost always let Akutagawa know in advance. Just as he expected the same kind of attention to detail from the rabid dog himself. Chuuya not being here meant that something could have gone horribly wrong, and Akutagawa was loathe to admit that he couldn’t push down the overwhelming feeling of going after him clawing at his chest.

“Oi, Akutagawa.”

That was Dazai-san. Snapping his head in the direction of his ex-mentor, he tried to focus back on the conversation that had been going on behind his back. Both the detective agency members as well as his own subordinates were looking at him with something akin to curiosity. Not Gin however. Her gaze was an entirely knowing one. He scowled at her. She just shrugged and looked away.

Stepping towards him, Dazai-san tilted his head in an almost childlike curiosity. It immediately set the port mafia member on edge. “Am I boring you Akutagawa-kun~,” he singsonged, a hint of a dangerous glint in his eyes. Akutagawa swallowed thickly.

He would be lying if he said that at the moment his former mentor wasn’t scaring him a little, so he just shook his head and calmly said no.

“Then why don’t you try and pay attention to what we’re all trying to figure out rather than stare of at the distance!”  

The smile Dazai-san was sporting was outright terrifying and for a split second, it almost felt like being thrown back into those dark days filled with blood and pain and suffering and terror at the heels of this very man. Akutagawa tried his hardest to not take a step back. He refused to bow down to his former teacher anymore. Even if his limps shook the slightest degree, he stood firm. Somehow Dazai-san's smile softened a bit, and Akutagawa didn’t understand why.  

“I’m sorry Dazai-san,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to ignore our mission.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Clapping him on the shoulder lightly, the former port mafia member turned back around to the huddled group again and beckoned him over with his hand. It was a clear order to get back in line and stop making unnecessary fuzz.

Any other day and Akutagawa would have scrambled to do as he was told. Any other day and even the slight approval in Dazai-san's voice would have made him straighten up with pride. But-

“Chuuya-san is late,” he blurted out.  

“What,” Dazai-san had turned back around again.

Biting his bottom lip hard, the younger man cursed at himself silently. What the fuck was he thinking. Why did he even say that?

“Chuuya is not always on time Akutagawa-kun~,” Dazai-san said slowly. Voice right back to being condescending again.  

Akutagawa glared. “I know that,” he bit out.

“Then why are we talking about this again?” It was obvious Dazai-san didn’t care at all about this particular conversation, and frankly Akutagawa could feel the humiliating stares of everyone around him burning into his back. His face heated up.  

“He’s never late for things like this,” he gritted out. God knew why he still refused to back down on this. It’s not like Chuuya-san didn’t know how to take care of himself or how to get out of tough situations. But something deep in his gut was telling him something was wrong, and Akutagawa couldn’t for the life of him let it go. “Chuuya-san might be in trouble Dazai-san.”

Dazai-san's eyes narrowed in annoyance and the weretiger behind him widened in concern. “It’s sweet that you are beside yourself with worry,” Dazai-san said. “But I can assure you that Chuuya is very much capable of taking care of himself and you doubting him only serves as an insult to his skills. So if you could stop putting the faith of the city at risk for your own petty insecurities that would be appreciated.”

Every word that came out of his mouth stung deep inside him, in a place Akutagawa had been sure he’d closed off long time ago. But now it felt like the scarred wounds were being ripped open with force greater than his strength and dug into with sharp familiar nails of degrading hatred.  

Mouth dry and throat bopping with a sound he refused to emit, Akutagawa swallowed down the burning sensation of shame he was feeling and tried desperately to compose himself. Of course Dazai-san was right. Of course he was putting the whole mission and truce between both organization at risk, and of course he was being dumb and stupid as always, but-

-----

“We’re family,” Chuuya-san had said to him once during one of his drunken moments. He’d put his warm finger against Akutagawa’s thin wrist and squeezed gently before muttering over and over again as if he didn’t think the younger man could hear him “We’re family”. It had been so honest and sincere that Akutugawa hadn’t been able to breathe for a second. “You’re drunk Chuuya-san,” he’d whispered back after barely getting past the painful feeling in his chest. “Let’s get you home.”

“No,” the other man had snapped. Face raising from the table and eyes locking him down in place while shining with unexpected clarity. “We’re family Ryuu-chan, so count on me sometimes k?”

“Ok,” he’d said. Eyes burning and lips trembling. “Ok.”

-The next day he’d told Chuuya-san to count on him too. Partly because he wanted the man to know that he trusted him but also because he had desperately wanted to know if Chuuya-san remembered what he’d said yesterday. Remembered what he had promised him. So when the other man had smiled, ruffled his hair and put his beloved hat on top of his head, just to say “I know. We’re family right,” something deep within him cracked a little, and he found himself hiding his face behind his hair and that well positioned hat.  

He hadn’t cried, but Akutagawa remembered that he had never felt as close to.

...Chuuya-san said they were family...

...Chuuya-san said he was counting on him...

...Chuuya-san said they were family...

“I’m sorry Dazai-san,” he finally spoke up. Voice soft, but steady enough to carry over to the group huddling at the corner behind the construction site. “But Chuuya-san might be in need of help, and I want to go.”

Dazai-san blinked. “And if I say no?”

Clenching his fist around the phone in his pocket, Akutagawa straightened his back. “I would go anyways.”

“Oh?” That dangerous glint was back in his eyes. “Decided to be someone else's lap dog from now on?”

The outraged look on the weretiger’s face might have been funny if Akutagawa believed in that type of humour.  

“No,” he said. Fingers unclenching entirely. Because things couldn’t have been anymore clearer for him now. Couldn’t have been more honest. He wasn’t lying to himself. “Chuuya-san is my family. And as you already know, I don’t leave my family behind.”

The “unlike you” rang loud and clear between them, and Dazai-san almost looked impressed.

The funny thing was, that it hadn’t been Akutagawa’s intentions at all. Not leaving family behind always came down to Gin in his mind. He didn’t leave her behind, so of course he wouldn’t leave Chuuya-san now either. It was only natural. But he wouldn’t try to clarify. Dazai-san could take it however he wanted it to.

“Go then,” his former mentor said. “We don’t really need you here.”

It didn’t hurt as much as he thought. Frankly the sense of relief he felt from those words was almost staggering.  

Nodding at the group, he locked eyes with his sister for a split second before he turned around and walked away.

Chuuya-san needed him.  

[paigewillows]

Stained-Glass Breaks and So Do Hearts.

I don’t really write Fan-fiction much anymore but Benlos is too precious. Will be continuing this at some point. Also, it’s sad at first but who knows how it might end. Sorry if it is bad. I’m rusty.

Carlos, one of the original VKs had always had a habit of avoiding people. He would hang out with the other VKs, Evie especially, but he liked his space. All that space can leave a heart often wanting. Boy, did his heart do some wanting now. It started the moment he left the limo that brought him to Auradon.

He always was smart but finally, he would get to learn more than he ever thought. Carlos was far from innocent, he was a VK, but he was never satisfied by the evil, it was the kinship that made him do it. He didn’t want to feel the pain and loneliness he had felt before when his mother had him. Auradon was his chance to finally change things for himself and he would be smart about it.

It started with chocolates, like every romance, but it was far from romantically intentioned. Carlos had indulged in some on the Limo and was now sticky with it. He was never a clean eater and that never really changed. When Ben touched his hand and smiled, “It is so, so, so good to finally me... meet you all. This is a momentous occasion, and one that I hope will go down in history... Is that chocolate?” licking the chocolate from his finger made Carlos go pale but hot. It was a strange reaction that seemed to reoccur whenever Ben touched him. Carlos just stared and Ben moved on like it was nothing. So he pretended it was nothing too.

Lessons had gone well as school had begun. Carlos took to his studies like expected, soaking up everything he could. Anytime he had a class with Ben though, he couldn’t help but stare. However, they were not in Auradon to learn but to get the wand. The first plan failed but Mal had come up with another. She planned to spell Ben into loving her. Carlos said nothing when the thought made his heart hit his stomach. It was like bells were ringing, telling him to stop it but this fire in his throat was extinguished by the thoughts of his mother. If they were to fail because of him, his scars throbbed to remind him of how cruel she could be.

Carlos kept watching Ben from afar. He refused to let himself believe it was more than a passing fancy, something built from friendliness and nothing more. It only got harder to deny when Dude had chased him into the forest. He knew that books here said dogs were harmless, his mother’s abuse had left an emotional scar. One that would soon be healed by a brunette with the most perfect smile. Ben had come to rescue him as only a true prince would.

“Ben, help me! This thing is a killer! He's gonna chase me down and rip out my throat. This is a vicious, rabid pack animal!” Carlos panicked. Ben looked confused, seemingly never having hear this before

“Hey, who told you that?”

“My mother.”

“Cruella?” Ben commented almost amused picking Dude up,

“She's a dog expert. A dog yellerer. Why are you holding him? He's gonna attack you!” Carlos worried for Ben but also started to notice how he wasn’t being attacked. Maybe Ben made everyone feel different when he touched them.

“Carlos, you've never actually met a dog, have you?” Ben smiled comfortingly.

“Of course not.” Carlos breathed as if there were any other answers to that.

“Dude, meet Carlos. Carlos, this is dude. He's the campus mutt.” He offered the dog towards him as if presenting him.

“He doesn't look like a vicious, rabid pack animal. Jeez. You're a good boy, aren't you? You're a good boy.” Carlos took Dude giving him belly rubs.

“I guess you guys have it pretty rough on the island.” His expression faltered with realization.

“Yeah. Let's just say we don't get a lot of belly rubs.” Carlos blurted out before blushing and glancing at Ben, imagining for a moment his hand on Carlos’ stomach. The warmth, the contact. The loneliness begins to gnaw at that spot, leaving his stomach feel like a hole had formed.

“Good boy. I mean, you're a good runner. You're... you're fast, you know.” Ben faltered again attempting to regain his composure patting his shoulder. The touch brought back that pale look but with a hot blush underneath. Ben left shortly after that and Dude became someone to keep the loneliness away because god knows it was eating him alive.

As Mal and Ben grew closer, no one seemed to notice the black and white boy sitting on the other side of windows and tables watching. Even Evie was seemingly too distracted by the plan to notice the look on Carlos’ face. His pain was plain for the world but the only one to see it was dude.

He bottled the pain up behind window panes but the glass wasn’t thick enough to stop the hurt from getting the better of him. He found himself spending more time away from the VKs. He had started to isolate until the coronation. When the party to celebrate the defeat of Maleficent and the crowning of King Ben, they danced. Ben danced with everyone to celebrate but when he danced with Carlos, that pale heat was back. He couldn’t hold in the pain when they touched. His eyes began to water, and Ben stopped, “Carlos?” Carlos just shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

“Sorry… uh, Allergies.” He started to edge away but Ben gently took his free arm and it started coming out in waves. By this point, all the VKs had stopped to come over.

“’Los? What’s wrong?” Evie said petting his head softly. It only made him choke on the words that wanted to come out so badly. Mal had wrapped her arm around Ben reflexively and Carlos couldn’t take it. He fled. He ran hard and fast. For some time, he felt like he was back on the isle. He ended up back at where Ben had helped him with Dude. Everyone was out looking for him, but when rustling came it was Dude and Evie who found him.  She always knew how to find him.

Carlos clung to Dude who cuddled him. Evie didn’t pry, she knew that this pain wouldn’t be easy to explain and let it go for now. All the memories and touches seemed to come flooding back to Carlos. All this space. He gave Ben so much space and all it did was hurt. His chest burned and his heart ached as if the glass holding back his pain had shattered and hurt him instead. When he calmed down Evie took him back to his room. They chalked it up to the intense emotions of the day but no one really believed it. They knew something was hurting Carlos but for that night all he wanted was to leave the glass shattered around his heart and let go of some of the pain. This space wasn’t working and now he knew he needed to come up with a plan to close the gap. He was smart and a VK, how hard could it be? But love and emotions aren’t so easy to navigate…

To Be Continued…

[musutofu]

【 Sunrise, Sunset 】

♡ pairing | Bakugou x ᶠᴱᴹ Reader ✑ word count | 6.4k ✎ genre | angst ✗ warnings | unwanted pregnancy, slight body horror, character death ✮ A/N | an alternate ending

The other side of the bed is cold and empty when you wake. You’d expected it. Katsuki rises with the sun as a dedicated Hero should. Dawn is much too early to be noticing minute details missing from the apartment, or at least that’s what you were hoping for when you only left the most obvious evidence of your existence in place. The pictures scattered throughout the apartment, your shoes by the front door. The rest had been packaged and delivered to the apartment that was to be your new home from this day onward. You pack your remaining belongings and memories into the final box you’d hidden in your nearly empty closet. The last thing you leave is a note on your pillow saying that you’ve gone, and that he should move on without you in more words than you could articulate in person.

But you never mention why. There were already enough tears melting the ink into blue splotches on the paper. With a box on your hip and tears in your eyes you lock the front door and slide the key under the welcome mat. The further you get from the place that’s been your home for the last few years the tighter your chest gets. It feels as though there’s a ribbon tethering you to the life that’s no longer yours to live and it’s slowly unraveling with each mile. By the time you pull into the parking garage of the building that will–for all intents and purposes–be your new home, the tightness in your chest has given way to emptiness. You float to the elevator, weighed down only by the box in your arms and you worry that once you set it down you’ll float away as if Uraraka has touched you.

You smile ruefully at the thought of your friend and set the box on the coffee table to dig through to find the photo you have in mind. It’s a picture of class 3-A–your class–at graduation. Aizawa-sensei has the faint shadow of a proud smile playing on his lips as All Might stands by his side, smiling enough for the both of them. You can feel the happiness radiating from the photo and you wish you could go back to this moment. If only to warn yourself to be more careful. But it’s too late for that now. A tear falls down the curve of your cheek and splatters on your face. You quickly scrub it away from the glass with the edge of your sleeve and set the photo face down next to you. It would probably be best for everyone if you disappear. Just start over as a new woman. Not a Hero, not a sidekick, not even as yourself. You’ll be a nameless nobody until something inside you changes.

Nothing does besides the size of your belly as your child grows steadily inside you. There’s no release from the purgatory that’s become your life. When you sleep you dream of noh masks, of beautiful faces painted into a single express. It’s you that paints each mask with the same forlorn face. The painted face always looks devastated, yet resigned to her fate. It takes you weeks to realize that you’ve been painting your own visage onto each mask, waking just as you press the mask against your tearful face. But waking is more painful as you pretend to be a glowing mother to be, letting people touch your belly and coo at the child growing inside you. It makes you angry to see other women’s faces light up in awe as the feel the child quickening inside you. They’re living vicariously through you, if only for a few moments. It’s easy to see someone else living the life you want for yourself and knowing you’ll be there when you’re ready. You’re still a child and now you’re heavy with your own, face painted into a sweet smile as people congratulate you for your recklessness. But there’s no stranger you hate more than yourself. You should’ve been more mindful, more careful. It’s too little too late now.

A chip forms in your mask during a sleepless night. The child inside you has been restless all day and is giving you no rest. The only thing you could think to do is bounce around the apartment on swollen ankles, hoping the movement would rock them to sleep. It, of course, does the opposite. The baby twists and turns inside you as if they’re fighting to get out. You flinch as one of their tiny feet kicks out at your rib, there’s a kick to your bladder a few moments later and you cut your circuit through the apartment short to go relieve the pressure they’re causing only for a foreign wetness to gather between your legs and spill onto the floor between your feet. In your surprise, you pee yourself then cringe at the mess you’ve made on the floor. When you finally make it to the bathroom the pain you were told would accompany birth is flaring up inside you, but you ignore it in favor of a shower and cleaning the putrid puddle off the floor. You take a few more minutes to clean the apartment and make sure the nursery is in order before getting in the car.

You give birth alone. Fighting against the pain gnawing through your body like a rabid dog while a kind nurse spoon feeds you ice chips and wipes the sweat from your brow. You scream and wail, all the anguish that you’ve kept bottled inside you for the last nine months spilling forth with each pained shriek as you push to bring your child into the world. It’s long and hard and you want to die towards the end when the pain reaches a fever pitch that makes you wish you were being torn in half, because you’re almost certain it would hurt less. The pain goes on for hours that seem to stretch into eternity until it slowly ebbs like a storm breaking, then stops altogether. The white knuckled grip you had on the bed rails slowly loosens, fingers sore from being strained for so long. It’s not until you hear a cry that nearly put yours to shame that all the pain drains from your body. The heavy storm clouds part to reveal the sun that had been missing from your life for so long. Happiness rushes in to fill every minuscule crack and crevice of your body until you feel whole again as your child, still screaming and pink in the face is placed in your arms.

“Congratulations, Mommy, it’s a girl.” The midwife murmurs as you pull the blanket away from her face. She calms at your touch, wails turning into soft coos as she tries to make sense of the world she’s just been brought in to. It sets a final fissure in your mask and you wash away the remains with tears of elation.

“Hi, baby girl,” your voice sounds as watery as your eyes as you stare at your daughter. She unravels one of her grape-sized fists the grip one of your fingers, pulling it this way and that as she works to gain her bearings. “Welcome to the world, baby. Don’t worry about a thing. Mommy will look after you.” It’s with those words that you realize this is what you were meant to do with your life. The endless night that you’ve been stumbling through aimlessly has finally giving way to a rosy dawn and you’ve never seen anything in a clearer light. You didn’t have to save everyone or be everyone’s Hero. Just being her Hero–her mother–will be enough for you. She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat as you press a soft kiss to the pink hat on her little head.

“You’re so tiny. Your daddy wouldn’t know what to do with you.” You laugh. It gives you pause as you realize this is the first time you’ve mentioned Katsuki out loud since you left and the first time you’ve thought of him without melancholy tinting the mood. There’s still a longing that tugs at your heartstrings but it’s a bittersweet feeling, like seeing the person you wanted most happy with someone else. It hurts but you aren’t upset anymore. “Daddy has big hands and a lot of scars, too. I only have a few.” You hum to her as her tiny fingers try to map out the shape of your hand. She finds the raised edge of the scar in the hollow between your thumb and pointer finger. The tiny pads of her fingers work over the flowered shape of it before settling back on your index finger. You handle her as if she’s made of glass as you lift her tiny hand to your lips, laughing when she flattens her palm against your mouth.

“She’s healthy in every way, just a bit small.” The nurse you hadn’t realized returned informs you. You can’t look away from your daughter’s soft face to answer her. “What would you like to name her?”

“Yuuki,” you decide, “Bakugou Yuuki.”

Perhaps you should’ve picked a character that didn’t mean brave for her name because sometimes Yuuki is too dauntless for her own good. It would seem you’ve given birth to an untamable beast; boisterous and inquisitive, always moving in a maelstrom of infallible energy that reminds you more of a hurricane than a child. Her inability to be stilled or swayed by anything set in her path has only been bolstered by the manifestation of her Quirk. She’s been strutting around all day, loud and proud that she’d inherited a Quirk so perfectly balanced between her parents’. A potent mix of your Transformation and Katsuki’s Emitter. She’s wreaked havoc on your apartment that has truly become a home over the years, leaving piles of ash trailing throughout every room as she tests the limits of her emerging power. You half expect her to burst out of your arms in a brilliant explosion as you lay her beneath her blanket, but Yuuki has done an unmatched job at running herself into the ground. She bats her long lashes up at you, staring blearily as you sit on the edge of her bed.

“Mommy,” Sleep has finally subdued her and her voice is flooded with emotion as she reaches instinctually for your hand. Her fingers, still so tiny in your own, find the shape of your scar. She pensively runs her fingers over the healed wound. “Do you think Daddy would be proud of my Quirk?”

The mention of Katsuki, though not by name, has no ill effects on you anymore. Since the new dawn that rose with the promise of happiness after the bleak night without him, thoughts of Katsuki have been more prevalent and more painless. Now you smile at the mention of him. He’s Yuuki’s father, after all, she has ever right to know who he is. And she does. The hand that isn’t holding yours is squeezing a Ground Zero plushie.

“More than anything in the world.” You assure her. If Katsuki was anything it’s proud and he’d be more than satisfied with Yuuki manifesting a Quirk with so much potential, something that was so perfectly you and him.

“Do you think I can be a Hero like Daddy?” Her words are slurred and her grip is loose as she slowly slips away into her own dreams, but you answer her anyway.

“You can be anything you want to, sparkle.” She doesn’t hear your encouragement, or if she does her only answer is a soft snore as the last embers of her energy are finally burned out. She’ll be back to a roaring flame tomorrow, but for now you revel in the small reprieve her sleep grants you. You press a soft kiss to her unruly hair before leaving the room, flicking on her nightlight before closing the door. You find your way onto the terrace after sweeping up the evidence of Yuuki’s new Quirk, a half empty pack of sparklers in hand. You light one and wave it languidly through the air, watching the colors jump from the silver rod in a flurry of sparks. It’s a comforting display, one that reminds you of Katsuki. Of how he’d sit up with you when you couldn’t sleep, letting you watch a miniature fireworks display glow over his palms in the darkness of his dorm room. It was on one of those nights that you realized you were irrevocably in love with him and it’s on a night like this that you finally admit to yourself that you always will be. It’s because of that moment that you gave Yuuki her nickname those short few years ago. A reminder of the love you lost and the love you gained when you left Katsuki. You’re sure he’d understand if you ever told him.

It looks as though the ocean has taken up residence in the sky. Thin white clouds like sea foam float lazily across the clear blue sky. Kites wade through the bright sky at a leisurely pace, carried along on the cooling waves of the wind. It’s a beautiful day by any standards, made more lovely by the excited chatter of your daughter. It’s almost surprising that her jaw doesn’t ache from all the feverish rambling she’s been doing between bites of her yakitori. Not just her mouth but her body seems to be restless with uncontainable delight.

Your heart sings as the very stars fall from the sky to glow up at you from her eyes–your eyes, half hidden behind a shaggy mess of Katsuki’s blonde hair. It’s nearly untamable, much like Yuuki herself, and growing longer with each passing day. It was nothing short of a miracle that her hair was wrangled into a style fit to match her new yukata though it took a legion of hairpins before you could even add her kanzashi. Yuuki is less than pleased with her polished appearance, pushing the hanging tassels away from her face as she takes a bite of her kebab between words, barely pausing long enough to take a breath. She, like many others milling around the beach, are buzzing with anticipation for what’s to come.

It’s less exciting for you after years of seeing Katsuki put on much bigger displays with his bare hands, but in light of her Quirk manifestation you thought you’d finally indulge Yuuki’s wish to go to a fireworks festival. Seeing her smile at you with that missing front tooth grin makes the obscenely long train ride and even longer wait for the sun to dip below the horizon bearable. You toe a divot in the sand while Yuuki goes on about colors, wondering if they can really make all those colorful lights at once like they do in the videos. As she asks what colors they’d use for Tsukuyomi when his main color is black a tiny sand crab with its pure white shell glowing like a pink pearl in the light of the setting sun swipes at your toe with its little claw. You refill the hole you dug as apology but it skitters away to burrow somewhere less populated.

“Mommy!” Yuuki huffs insistently. You hadn’t realized she’d stopped talking. When you look up from the sand her kebab is standing point first in front of your face, a grilled onion next on the pattern of meat and vegetables. Usually you’d urge her to eat all her food so she could grow a liking for it while her taste buds are still getting used to new foods but you let it slide today, holding her hand steady so you can eat the offered onion. Once satisfied with the lack of a barrier between her and her meat Yuuki goes back to question this and that about firework production and history. She gets excited at the mention of the fact that some shells are only seventy-six millimeters wide but can burst to the size of a hundred and twenty meters.

“How big am I?” She asks, smudging grease on her cheek as she turns to look at you in the middle of a bite.

“You’re about ninety-six centimeters tall.” She’s grown so much since she was born and yet she’s still so small.

“So when I get bigger will my explosions get bigger, too?”

“Of course. And if you train hard enough they’ll get even bigger.” You assure her.

“Will I be able to move as far as you can?” Her teeth nibble on the end of her kebab in rapt interest and you laugh when it slips and falls into the space that was previously occupied by a baby tooth. In awe that you helped create something so precious, that you’ve got to see her go from a squealing and red bundle of sleepless nights to a agog Hero in the making, you press your hands to her cheeks and squeeze until her lips are puckered like a fish. She wraps one hand around your wrist but doesn’t try to push you away. However abrasive she is to strangers or people she decides she doesn’t like Yuuki can be quite affectionate when she wants to be.

“You can do anything you put your mind to.”

“But will I be like you?” Yuuki insists on getting an answer to her question that’s more grounded than a mother’s encouragement.

“When my Quirk first manifested I could only move a few centimeters.”

“Like me!” Yuuki gasps like the thought of you ever possessing such a small amount of power is ludicrous.

“That’s right. You had to get half of your Quirk from somewhere, sparkle.” If Katsuki were here he’d make a joke about his being the better half and you smile inwardly at the thought. Instead of saying what he would’ve you wipe the mess from Yuuki’s face with your crumpled napkin. The dango you had didn’t last long but it’s just as well. Old habits die hard and you think you’ll always be on the strict diet you upheld as a sidekick. It helps when you have to keep up with a tornado that’s even half as destructive as Lord Explosion Murder himself.

“Are the fireworks going to start soon?” Yuuki asks around her last bite of chicken.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth.” You scold instinctually without looking up from your phone. The sun has official set behind the horizon, dragging the ocean down with it. The water is a wavering mass of darkness further down the beach. It will probably turn from ink to paint once the kaleidoscope colors of the fireworks burst through the clear sky. “It says it starts at seven and it’s six fifty-seven right now. How much longer until it starts.” Yuuki chews her meat pensively before answering.

“Four!”

“Good job, sparkle!” You cheer. She smiles then offers you her kebab. There’s a green pepper just above her hand. She’s scorned bell peppers since making the discovery that not all peppers are hot. No matter how much you tried to convince her she refuses to eat the capsaicin deficient vegetable. The fact that it’s green doesn’t get any points from her either. You’re less picky with how spicy your food is when you aren’t preparing it and eat the last bit just as the telltale whistle of a firework flying towards the clouds erupts through the air. A hush falls over the crowd just as it bursts in the air in a brilliant display of red and gold. Had you been thinking you would’ve fumbled to film Yuuki’s expression, but admiring the look of complete wonder on her face without a screen between you is more than enough.

“Mommy, look!” One hand is shaking your arm while the other points skyward. “It’s Doraemon!” She exclaims. She’s just as enraptured by the Hello Kitty and Pikachu displays, but something distracts you from laughing at her calling the Pokémon display a nod to Chargebolt. A cold and heavy feeling coils in the pit of your stomach, black and ugly like a venomous viper. It’s the same feeling you used to get on patrols and adrenaline shoots through your system on instinct. The noise is barely noticeable, perfectly timed to each blast of the firework shells that continue to burst in the sky at measurable intervals. The display is far from over, but it doesn’t take much time to discern the space between each set off.

The noise that’s piqued your suspicion sounds almost like an echo. A softer burst just after each shell cracks open to spread brilliant light across the dark sky. You look around carefully, searching for even the smallest anomaly across the beach. After a minute of searching you almost settling on the feeling being born of baseless paranoia. That is until a shape is suddenly jutting out of the soft waves where there wasn’t one before. For a moment you think it’s simply a stone outcropping you hadn’t noticed but it flickers out of focus, splits in two, then solidifies a few seconds after another blast of light. The noise that accompanies its merge after a hazy separation is loud, but virtually unnoticeable as everyone’s focus is on the sky. You squint into the darkness, waiting for the next firework to scatter light across the parted silhouettes.

Two pair of bright eyes stacked one on top of the other glow in a face beneath a mop of soaked grey hair. The left side of their half obscured face is slashed with a scar that draws a dull line through their two left eyes and you decide that they’re the cause of your anxiety. But before you can pick up Yuuki and discreetly leave to find a police officer or Hero–since this large gathering of civilians usually attracts lower rung Villains looking to cut their teeth in the underground–the head becomes completely opaque without fading away into two figures once more and starts getting larger and less hidden as they wade towards the shore. Suddenly you’re a sidekick again and you’re training dictates that you not cause mass hysteria in an otherwise subdued situation. You’re sure this is simply calm before the storm, but for now you have to take advantage of it.

“Yuuki, Mommy has to go do something, okay?” She nods in distracted understanding. “I need you to stay right here.” The two of you have found a place that was in the shade of the boardwalk, far enough from the water’s edge that she’ll be safe if this dissolves into a fight. “Mommy loves you, sparkle.” Her full attention is on you then and that same gap toothed smile shines up at you.

“I love you, too, Mommy!” Her tiny arms wrap earnestly around your legs as you stand. “I love you more than fireworks!” She declares passionately as another colorful explosive lights up the night. It’s no small compliment seeing as she’s been obsessed with fireworks for weeks. You smile more so to reassure yourself before turning back to face the water. The person has emerged to a waist deep stroll through the high tide and you move fast to stop them before they get too close to shore, weaving through beach chairs and stepping over blankets with quick steps that remind you of running ladders back in high school. Gradually the parts of your brain that had deactivated once you turned in your resignation letter are turning on again though not as quickly as you’d like. There’s still a hint of human instinct in your Hero training though you hope it’s not enough to prove detrimental.

The tube straight skirt of your yukata hinders each step as the crowd thins enough for you to lengthen your strides. Without pausing you grab a handful of the waterlilies printed on the black fabric and tuck the corner into your obi. The fact that you might accidentally flash someone a peek of your underwear is inconsequential, especially since your original Hero costume was less than modest and was altered to be ever more ostentatious per your agency’s demands. As the figure continues to approach you take the time to fully examine them.

They’re large, larger than the average human. And not only do they have two sets of eyes but two pairs of arms as well. Your mind is already trying to work through what Quirk could result in two people combining into one being and your hunch is promptly confirmed when the next blast of heat is dragged from the sky as a plume of sand rises up in front of you. An impossibly huge shard of glass juts out of the sand though the confused murmurs around you sound to be prompted by the firework’s short time in the sky rather than the mounting Villain attack. Now completely sure this is an unwanted guest that is here to harm these civilians you toss out the laws about not using your Quirk in a public setting. Because while your status as a sidekick was revoked when you quit, your Hero License is still in effect for if you ever decided to return to Hero work. You’re glad for such a safeguard now.

A slight tremor runs beneath your feet as small puffs of sand lift from the ground. You follow them with your eyes, launching into action as soon as the next firework’s heat is ripped from the sky. These glass shards move with a purpose, shooting out to target the civilians sitting too close to the water’s edge. Without regards to the lasting damage it might do to your body you activate your Quirk. For a moment you cease to exist, then reappear a few meters away in time to stop a glass shard with a kick. It shattered against the lacquer wood of your geta. The next few are as easily thwarted but you’ve managed to draw the Villain’s attention. Round of shards are directly solely at you but they’re easily avoided as you teleport to a new place.

People closer to the shore, now made aware of the impending danger, are quick to jump into a frenzy. All running towards the boardwalk, screaming and tripping over each other. It’s harder to predict where the next attacks will be aimed and your uncertainty results in a few minor injuries as smaller flecks of glass rain down on as you knock each knife-like shard from the air. The Villain is on shore now. They let out a rumbling roar, bursting through that first pane of glass in an angry fit as their four eyes sweep the beach in search of you. With so many people running and screaming like bugs skittering out of the way of a falling boot it’s easy for you to slip past their gaze and towards Yuuki. She’s still sitting just where you left her, one of the only people left on the sand as everyone runs towards safety. You hear sirens echoing a short distance away as the authorities have finally caught wind of what’s happening.

You’ve successfully prevented any casualties and as a few Heroes suddenly appear on the sand, leaping over the railing of the boardwalk or materializing from the air, you decide it’s your turn to save yourself. Yuuki’s arms are tight around your neck as you make your way to safety, trying to avoid getting in anyone’s way. Your efforts are in vain as another huge fragment of glass imbeds itself into the ground before you. Yuuki screams and buries her face in your neck. But you drop her onto the sand to slam your fist into an oncoming projectile. The sharp heat of your knuckles splitting through skin barely registers over Yuuki’s terrified whimpering. She sounds farther away then she should be and you turn to see only a pile of ash marring the white sand where she’d been standing. She must’ve activated her Quirk in a haze of fear. Though it’s only managed to put her in more danger as the Villain stands before her with a cruel smile on their face, eyes flashing sadistically as they look down at your trembling child.

“Yuuki, use your Quirk!” You scream. The command is asking too much of a child even if she’s braver than most, but you want her out of danger. It’s like she doesn’t hear you as she continues to stare up at the Villain with tears in her eyes. The hulking figure growls out a laugh as their eyes catch on you before a hand reaches to grab your daughter. There’s no protocol or training outside of pure instinct that has you activating your Quirk. And the short burst of thoughtless action results in a heavy loss on your part as your brain miscalculated the space between them and you reappear wrapped around the Villain’s wrist. It’s a strange sort of pain that registers in stages. It isn’t like you haven’t done this before, but never to this extent and Recovery Girl has always been there to heal your clumsy mistakes. Now as you teleport again, away from the Villain you fall to the sand with a hole punched through your abdomen. This isn’t the small scratches of a few millimeters of error but the grave injuries of an irreversible mistake.

Though it isn’t really a mistake as you managed to distract the Villain long enough for them to be separated and subdued individually. And Yuuki is safe, albeit petrified as she runs over to where you collapsed in the sand, pitifully gasping for breath that won’t stay inside your ruined lungs. She can’t even properly speak between her sobs, but you pet her hair weakly to soothe the words that won’t come. Another shadow falls over you after a moment.

“[Name]?” The voice is familiar and tight with anguish. You hear them fall to their knees next to Yuuki. After a moment your eyes focus.

“Kiri-kun,” the word of recognition is followed by a wheeze of a laugh. “This is Yuuki.”

“Don’t talk–just–we have to get you to a hospital.” Kirishima looks to be on the verge of tears as he looks over your injuries. You shake your head the best you can.

“Take Yuuki,” your voice sounds wet and choked as something warm starts to dribble out of the corner of your mouth. “Take her to Katsuki.”

“Mommy!” Yuuki finally wails coherently, tossing her small body over yours. You grunt as the impact pushes air from your lungs but don’t try to remove her. Instead you press a bloody kiss to her bangs.

“I love you, sparkle, and don’t you ever forget it. Now go with Kiri.”

“No!” She screams, gripping tighter to your failing body.

“Kiri, please, take her. And tell Katsuki I never stopped loving him. Please, promise me.” A hot tear falls down your cheek as Kirishima tries to silently contain his grief.

“I will. And you have to know he never stopped loving you, either.” You think you smile but you can’t be sure as your body turns heavy and cold, disobeying the most basic commands from your brain. It should scare you but you’ve already been afforded more time than you should’ve been after a wound like this tore through you. It’s only by some miracle that you got to see your daughter and best friend one last time. You know they’ll tell Katsuki what you’ve said and knowing that brings you a comfort like no other. It feels like a warm blanket has been placed over you to chase away the frost gathering in your dying body. It’s nice and you really do smile this time as the light of the last firework fades to nothingness.

The photo in his hand is filled with creases that have worn away the color like cracks in glass after being folded too many times to count. She may have taken all of the framed pictures when she left but she had no way of deleting the pictures from his phone without raising suspicion of the betrayal that had yet to come. And even though she left without a word, cruelty stealing away the best thing that’s ever happened to him and leaving a measly note stained with tears of regret in her place, Katsuki could never find it in him to be truly angry with her. Especially on a day as hateful as this. Even the sky has its curtains drawn to the horrific truth playing out like his worst nightmare brought to life. The dark clouds weep for his loss, tears he refuses to let fall. He’s a Hero, he can’t let things like this get to him.

Except it does. Which is why he’s sitting on a bench across the street from the church, hiding beneath the anonymity of shadows and a dark umbrella instead of joining everyone else inside. To walk inside would be to say goodbye forever and Katsuki is nothing if not stubborn. He refuses to say goodbye to her for a second time, for the last time. He wants to remember her like she is in his picture, smiling wide with laughter as he reluctantly presses a kiss to her cheek to be forever saved for posterity with a photo. She was the light of his life and his entire world had gone dark without her. The missions he accepted after she left were like a suicide note to her. Each more reckless than the last as he tried to hide his pain in his work.

It didn’t work, only served to reopen a partially healed wound when he heard her voice after a particularly bad run in with a Villain landed him in a hospital. He was sure she’d been there, he’d heard her. But no one would say anything to him when he woke just as she left, inconsolable in his rage that she’d say such sweet words to him when he was clinging to the edge, ready to let go. She’d brought him back with her words alone only to abandon him again. It’s a merciless twist of fate that it had been Eijirou that got to see her one last time and not him. It should’ve been him fighting on that beach and yet it wasn’t. And his best friend–her best friend–has refuses to speak to him since that fateful night that snuffed his light with no remorse.

His bright red hair sticks out in the sea of black as people begin filing out of the church. Katsuki quickly tucks away the photo and presses the heel of his hand against his eyes to will away the tears. Next to Eijirou’s bright hair is an even brighter umbrella–green and dotted with little frogs, a Froppy umbrella. Katsuki feels irrationally angry at the flash of color on such a bleak day. And why does Eijirou have a kid with him anyway? It’s seems he’ll get his answer soon as he crosses the street to where Katsuki is sitting.

The edge of the umbrella lifts to reveal eyes he thought he’d never see again and Katsuki nearly chokes on his grief, sure that he’s going crazy at the loss of you. Those are your eyes staring up at him with equal parts sadness and elation.

“Katsuki,” he and Eijirou have long since dropped the formalities when speaking to each other, but in this moment it reminds him too much of you. “This is Yuuki-chan.”

“You look bigger than you do on TV.” The little girl says plainly. For a moment, Katsuki thinks Eijirou has just brought a fan to see him on the day of his only love’s funeral until she speaks again. “Mommy always said you were big.”

“‘Mommy’?” He croaks. Eijirou shifts to hold Katsuki’s shoulder as if trying to ground him.

“Katsuki, this is your daughter.” Katsuki grabs Eijirou’s wrist, now glad for the contact as he looks the little girl over again. Ash blonde bangs fall across those eyes that are just yours set in a face that reminds him of his mother. The old hag is across the street hugging your own mother and he wonders if you told your parents about Yuuki. Eijirou follows his gaze. “They just met her, too. No one knew what happened to her when she disappeared, but now we know why. She loved you, Katsuki. She wanted me to tell you that she never stopped loving you.”

The sound Katsuki makes is a cross between a sob and a war cry as he collapses into his friend’s arms with little regards to how it might look if the press are skulking around in the shadows in search of a story on the death of a former sidekick. Eijirou catches him, but there’s another set of arms too. Smaller and warm as they wrap around his legs, soft cheek pressed to his knee as Yuuki tries to comfort her father. He’s openly weeping now, face wet with rain and tears as he mourns the loss of the love of his life. But he gained a new love in the process, like a single flower blooming from a dead bush. He hasn’t completely lost you if he still has Yuuki. He’ll raise her right, for you. After a moment he calms and wipes his face clean with the back of his scarred hand.

“Do you have a daddy, Yuuki-chan?” He asks hesitantly. Your heart may have always been his, but you could’ve given yourself to another for the sake of giving Yuuki a proper father figure. The thought raises bile in his throat but he can’t be mad at you for it.

“You,” she says like he’s just asked her the stupidest question. “Mommy didn’t like any of the boys that liked her. She said she only loved you. And I love you, too!” She declares fiercely, hugging his legs tighter. It’s strange how much she resembles him upon their first meeting, but she is so much like you, too. Katsuki lifts her into his arms, holding his daughter for the first time in his life. He knows you would’ve thought the two of you would hold him back and whether or not it’s the truth doesn’t matter now. Now he has Yuuki, in place of you. In that moment the clouds part to cover the three of them in a patch of warm light and Katsuki swears he can hear your voice on the breeze. It sounds like you’re laughing and for the first time since the news of your death, he smiles.