#i’m not familiar enough with the rest of the five to tag them but them too to be sure

[wormsdyke]

there’s a lot of reasons im glad i wasn’t born in russia in the mid 1800s. but if i WAS god the music would have been so sick

[sweetlyskz]

Emerald Gem||Chapter Six

Chapter one|Chapter two|Chapter three|Chapter four|Chapter five|Chapter six|Chapter seven|Chapter eight|Chapter nine|Chapter ten

Hybrid!OT7 x Fem!Reader

Overview: Living away from society has its perks. All natural food from your thoroughly cultivated farm, no nosy neighbors, and peace and security with your animals. But sometimes you did get lonely, having no one to talk to but the cows and pigs. However, when 7 extremely wanted hybrids stumble upon your deserted farm, everything changes.

Genre: Hybrid Au, Strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, fluff

Warnings: SUGGESTIVE, some language, harsh themes

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Tags list is now CLOSED! Thank you guys for loving this pic <3 lots more to come soon!

Unedited

Your dinner was getting cold. For some reason, you couldn’t pick up the fork. Your hands were too busy gripping the table, bewildered by the sight in front of you.

“Are you going to come greet us or just sit there?” Yoon teased, showing that gummy smile you missed so much. The others were behind him, Jimin laid on Taehyung’s back. You could tell they had been through hell and back. Jin could barely stand on his own two feet, leaning on Hobi for support.

“I- what are you guys doing here?” You never thought you would see them again. Now that they’re here in front of you, you don’t know what to say. Even after all that time practicing what to say if they came back.

Im sorry. Please stay. I missed you.

Instead, you asked “Where’s Namjoon?”

The smile on Yoongi’s face quickly turned into a frown, telling you all you needed to know. Maybe you couldn’t do anything to convince him to stay, maybe Joon was just a lost cause- that’s what you tried to convince yourself anyway.

“I’m so sorry-.” You tried to apologize but Jungkook quickly shut it down with a quick embrace. As soon as you felt his arms wrap around your waist you were at ease. But once he pulled away, you yearned for more. It was just a second, but you still craved it nonetheless.

“Don’t apologize when you have nothing to be sorry for. He made his bed. Now he has to lay in it.”

“Speaking of beds”, Jimin interrupted, apparently lucid enough to speak clearly. “May I go to mine? I haven’t had a proper sleep in weeks…”The guys chuckle at Jimin lack of consciousness. It made you smile knowing they could laugh in dire situations. It comforted you, hearing Jimin call the bed his. It was his bed.

This is his home.

***

After eating dinner, everyone went there separate ways. They were probably looking forward to having a nice, cozy bed all to themselves. You laid in bed trying to rest, but your mind wouldn’t allow it. Yes, you were happy to have the six wanted hybrids back home, but every time you thought about Namjoon your stomach turned from worry. Apparently you weren’t the only one.

“Hey Y/n?” The Bunny hybrid stood in front of your bedroom door holding his favorite black and blue pillow.

“Hey Kook”, you leaned against the headboard, getting a better look at him. He looked frazzled, like there was something on his mind. You know that look all too well. “Can’t sleep?”

He nodded, making his way to the unoccupied side of the bed. He laid down next to you, getting as close to you as he could while holding his pillow to his chest.

“Worried about Namjoon”, he whispered into his pillow. “Never been anywhere without him. Im scared…”

You gently removed the pillow from his chest, replacing it with your warmth. Jungkook immediately relaxed in your embrace, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. You felt like home- nice and warm. You were familiar to him, someone his could call his. Yes, he had the guys, but he grew up with them so it was different. The bond he built with you was new, and easy.

You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, rubbing his back soothingly. “I know”, you whispered. You of all people know what it’s like to lose someone. You know the feeling of curiosity, the feeling of wondering where your person may be.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him… I promise.”

You continued to rubbed Kook’s back, soothing him to sleep. There in the darkness, you both laid. It was quiet- serene.

“How did we get so lucky?” He murmured, eyelids fluttering on the brink of sleep. “What did we do to deserve you?”

He fell asleep before you could respond, before you could find the words to answer him. But his question kept you up all night, looking for the right words. How do you tell the person you just met that you’re falling? How do you explain to him that it’s you who was lucky enough to find seven incredibly selfless people.

“You deserve the world”, you whispered, finding comfort in his unconsciousness. “All of you do..”

“I love you. More than you know...”

***

You expected jungkook to be gone when you woke up, but there he was- still laid in your arms. He looked peaceful. Even with the cuts and bruises on his face, he was beautiful. And there it goes  again- butterflies in your stomach. It was a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time. The feeling was warm and comfortable, but also scary.

But you couldn’t lay in bed all day, admiring all of Jungkook’s features. The farm needed tending to, and breakfast needed to be made. When you went to sit up, a pair of hands quickly pulled you back down.

“Don’t leave yet”, he whispered, sending a shiver down your spine. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Kook”, you sighed, pretending to be irritated. “I’ve gotta go cook and feed the animals. You can come help if you want.”

He shook his head, pouting like a sad little kid. “Hobi already tended to the farm and Yoon made everyone breakfast. Now, lay down with me please.”

“Oh” was all you could say. You didn’t have any other excuse. The guys made sure of that. So you let him cuddle you, the way you did him. And for a while, you laid in his arms peacefully.

“You trust me tight?” Kook questioned.

“With my life”.

He scooted closer to you, putting his head in the crook of your neck. You could feel him breathing on you, making you nervous.

“Just trust me, okay?”

You nodded. “O-okay.”

Taking his sweet time, he placed gentle kisses from your neck to your ear. It had you squirming in anticipation, wondering where his lips would move to next.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now”, he breathed by your ear, running a hand up and down your waist. One hand made its way to your breast, messaging it through your night shirt. You gasp at the sudden feeling, giving him room to connect your lips with his. The kiss was soft and gentle, yet it still made you’re mind go blank. “Namjoon would loose his mind if he knew.”

You pushed away immediately after hearing his name. Namjoon, their pack leader. What would he think about the pack maknae comforting you in your bed? Your stomach turned just thinking about it.

“I should probably go check on the others, it’s a little too quiet”, you thought up an excuse, leaving a dumbfounded Jungkook in your bedroom.

***

As you walked down the creeky stairs, the aroma of pancakes and syrup surrounded you. When you entered the living room, four hybrids sitting on the couch devouring their plate.

“Oh! You’re awake!” Hoseok beamed. “Yoon thought we should wait for you to come down, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay”, you smiled. The smell of the morning breakfast was making your stomach growl. Jimin scooted to the edge of the couch, making some room for you to sit.

“Here, grab your plate and you can watch with us”, he offered. The Saturday cartoons were on, Tae’s favorite. Tom and Jerry always made him laugh, and don’t even get him started on road runner.

“Sorry, I can’t. Lots of farm work to do. But let’s play a game outside later!”

Jin, lying down on the other side of the couch, pointed a finger at Hoseok. “Hobi already did it! The silos are full and the chicken coops are clean! I fed the animals too!”

The stairs creaked once more. Jungkook, with his doe eyes and fluffy hair, entered the living room. “Good Morning”, he greeted in his raspy morning voice.

You could feel the butterflies again.

“You sure slept well, didn’t you?” Jimin smirked. “You might want to adjust your self, kook. It’s looking right at me.”

He glared at jimin. “What are you ta- Oh shit.”

If Jimin didn’t say anything, you would’ve never noticed, but now you can’t unsee it- the tent in the bunny hybrids pants. The others laughed at him while you blushed feverishly. 

“What were you dreaming about kookie?” Tae teased the youngest.

“More like who was he dreaming about?” Hobi joined in. You couldn’t even think straight. Instead of joining in the taunting banter, you decided to quietly grab a seat and try to wipe the red off your face.

But Jungkook wasn’t going to let you get away so easily.

“Blame Y/n! It’s her fault”, He exclaimed with his back turned adjusting himself. Suddenly all eyes shifted to your side of the couch, and you could no longer hide your embarrassment. And with the embarrassment was also shock.

“I- I didn’t! We never-“ You stuttered trying to find the right words. Was there any right way to explain how you made their pack mate hard? Probably not…

“You worry too much”, Kook huffed, slightly irritated. “You’re our family now. I’m as just as close to you as I am my pack. You practically are apart of us now!”

You tugged at the loose string on your shirt, eyes on the floor as if you had just been scolded. “But Namjoon-“

“Joon will come around eventually”, Jin interjected. “He knows where home is. He’ll make his way back to us soon.”

***

The room felt cold, ice cold. And even though he hadn’t opened his eyes yet, he already knew where he was.

“No! Please, Not again!” Joon begged, body trembling.

The men in white lab coats laughed. “You’re lucky you still alive. We can keep it that way, too! Just tell me where the others are and no one has to get hurt.”

Namjoon laid on the cold white floors, gripping the metal bars caging him in. If the bars weren’t there, everyone in the room would’ve been dead, by his hand. Just hearing the sinister laugh of the people who hurt his pack made him want to tear them into shreds.

“Fuck you!” He spat. He banged and beat on the cell bars, but It was no use. He couldn’t break them. And now he’s in a situation he cannot escape.

And now he’s silently calling you for help.

Please, he begged. Save me!

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[elvensorceress]

not quite tuesday tidbit teases

it's probably tuesday somewhere and this just popped in my head and I wanted to share. what do you think? do we want more?

tagging if any of you want to share something 😘 @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @messyhairdiaz @rainbow-nerdss @tizniz @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @monsterrae1 @diazsdimples @watchyourbuck @wh0re-behavi0r @911onabc @chaosandwolves @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rogerzsteven @epicbuddieficrecs @bekkachaos @fiona-fififi @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @the-likesofus @hoodie-buck @lover-of-mine @mikereads @jesuiscenseedormir @lemonzestywrites 💕

It’s just after midnight and Buck is going to bed. 

He’s been saying this for a couple hours but YouTube had too many AItA videos and Instagram had those gorgeously edited food recipe posts and he doesn’t even want to talk about the doomscrolling of TikTok. But he had a day off and it was supposed to be with Tommy so they could take the weekend and go somewhere fun and romantic, but then Tommy had to work. Buck could’ve gone in with the rest of A shift. But it was nice to have some alone time for himself so he took time for himself. 

His phone goes off with a call five seconds after he’s gotten into bed. It’s a number he doesn’t know. So he could ignore it. Or wait until they’ve left a message. But who would call at this hour for no reason? Or for scamming, telemarketing reasons? 

So Buck answers. 

“Buckley?” The man on the other end says. He sounds vaguely familiar but not enough that Buck came put a name or face with a voice. 

“Uh, yeah? Who is this?” 

“Mehta. Captain Mehta. Of the 133.”

“Oh, hey,” Buck says, automatically friendly and smiling. That makes sense now. “What’s up? Why the— why are you calling?” Why would he call in the middle of the night?

Why does anyone call in the middle of the night.

“Buckley,” he says and it sounds… it sounds… it sounds like…

They have him now. They’ll take care of him. Why don’t we get you cleaned up. He’s in good hands. They’ll rush him to surgery. You don’t have to worry. Let’s get you cleaned up. 

Lets get you cleaned up.

Buck can’t breathe. His whole body is cold. Frozen. 

He tries to get out of bed. He tries, but just slides to the floor beside it. He doesn’t make it any further.

“Buckley, there was a helicopter crash. Your team, our team we went to rescue the pilot. Your, uh, sorry, I don’t know what you call him, but your boyfriend? Life partner? He—”

Oh god. No. No, that’s not. That’s not happening. That is not what is happening right now. This can’t be a, Tommy is dead and I’m letting you know. It can’t be that. It’s not. They were going to—

They were supposed to have a romantic trip together. Wine tasting and some kind of museum Tommy thought Buck would love and maybe a visit to a hot springs up north and they were going to watch the sunset and the sunrise and—

And he can’t be dead. He can’t be.

“He’s alive,” Mehta says. “We’re at Cedars-Sinai. He’s alive, but. It doesn’t look good. He’s in the ICU now. He’s critical.”

Buck pushes himself up. Has to. He has to be there. 

He barely remembers to thank Mehta or even end the call before he switches off his phone and runs out the door. 

~

The drive is a blur. The drive is probably very illegal and he doesn’t know how he doesn’t crash, but he doesn’t have time to wait for an Uber or for anyone else. He runs as fast as possible to the ER lobby, and almost runs directly into Chimney. 

Not almost. Buck crashes into him and almost knocks them both to the floor but that almost actually is an almost because Chim somehow steadies them both. 

He’s pale. Shaken up. His eyes are red. He’s been crying. 

“Chim,” Buck says as broken as he feels. “Chim, where— where is he? What happened? How did this happen? Please tell me he’s okay. He can’t be dying, right? That can’t be happening?”

Chim opens his mouth and grips Buck’s arms tighter, still trying to steady him. “Buck, we— we don’t know yet. It was bad, but he’s tough. You know that. He could be fine.”

Buck lets out a broken whimper and backs away from him. “No. He is fine. He’s fine and this isn’t happening. I just— Chim, I just found him. I can’t lose him already.” 

There’s a flash of something on Chimney’s face but there’s movement around Buck, too. Other people. Bobby, he’s pretty sure. And Hen. They would be here. They would try to comfort him. But they don’t need to because it’s fine. Everything is fine and this isn’t happening. 

It can’t be happening. 

He can’t be dying.

There’s more movement and it’s all blurry, probably filtered through tears, but then everything stops. The world stops. 

Tommy is right in front of him. Whole, alive, real, a little rumpled and there are bloody scratches and bandages on his face and around his arm. But he’s here. He’s fine.

Buck slams into him, throws his arms around him, and sobs as he clutches him. 

“Baby,” Tommy says softly as he hugs Buck tightly, cradling him, comforting him, and Buck can breathe. He’s not frozen. Everything is okay. They were all wrong. Buck knew they were wrong. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Tommy tells him and holds him tighter. 

Buck pulls back just to look at him. “No, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He takes a deep breath and smiles because Tommy is fine. He’s right here and everything is good. Buck touches Tommy’s battered face and caresses him gently. He’s bruised and also pale, and very soggy. It’s been stormy tonight. Another reason why Buck wasn’t all that eager to go out in it. “They told me—  fuck, they scared me. I thought— I thought I lost you. I was so scared. I don’t want to lose you. He told me—Mehta, Captain Mehta— he called and told me there was a helicopter crash and my boyfriend was in the ICU and he’s critical and it didn’t look good, and I can’t— god, I can’t. Tommy, I—”

Tommy’s face isn’t good. It’s pale. Bad. Not smiling. Not relieved. It falls and he can’t even hide the devastation on it. He looks like guilt and death, and his mouth moves but nothing comes out. “Evan,” he finally says, barely says. It’s too quiet, too broken. “Evan…”

No. No, Buck doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want to throw up right now. And he just might. His heart is rabbit speed lightning and his legs don’t exist anymore and there’s an awful blackhole of apocalyptic world-ending destruction swirling and growing in his stomach. 

Someone takes his arm. Someone needs his attention. He’s moved from Tommy’s arms because there is no safety or comfort anymore. There’s no relief. There’s no happily ever after, nothing will ever be okay. 

Buck knows why Mehta said what he said. He knows who isn’t here. He knows who would have come to him and immediately comforted him. 

He knows. 

He knows what this is now. It can’t be that. It can’t. Buck doesn’t know anything.

Hen tells him. She holds his arm and says calmly even if it’s broken. Everything is broken. They’re all broken. “Buck. It’s Eddie.”

No. No, it isn’t. It isn’t that either. Buck really can’t take that. It was bad enough, unimaginable enough the other way. It can’t be this. 

He’s already done this. They did this before. More than once. Forty plus feet of cruel earth and a whirling burst of metal and blood all over him. 

Eddie’s blood was all over him. 

“The helicopter went down and got stuck on the cliffs. He went in so he could pull Tommy out, and we got Tommy out,” Hen tells him, every word a knife stabbing through both of them. All of them. 

“He saved me,” Tommy says, quiet and full of regret. “He saved me and went down with it. They thought it was stable enough. It wasn’t. They got him out after. But…”

Buck collapses to his knees on the floor and holds his head in his own hands as if he can somehow hold himself together when there’s no holding himself together. 

It’s Eddie.

It’s Eddie it’s Eddie it’s Eddie. 

Buck shatters like flimsy glass and sobs in all the pieces that are ripped out of him. What about Chris? What about Abuela? What about Eddie’s parents and sisters and friends and everyone else who loves him?

What about Buck? They can’t be BuckandEddie without Eddie. 

“I need to see him,” Buck suddenly says to the closest person who will listen. “I need to be with him. Please. Please.”

There’s arguing that happens. Bobby yells at someone. Hen, Chim, and Tommy stay around him like a protective guard. Until someone finally agrees. He’s not in surgery, they can’t take him to surgery yet. He’s not stable enough. But he’s on a ventilator, life support. They warn him and Buck doesn’t care. He knows how bad these things can be. He’s lived through several. 

They give him five minutes. 

They’ll have to drag him out with an armed guard if they think Buck will agree to only that. But at least it’s something. 

It’s something. 

Eddie is mostly covered. Blankets, wires, tubes, IV lines, bandages. He’s paler than all of them. Slightly blue-purple, cyanotic. They tell him a few things but Buck can’t hear them. He just wants to be with Eddie. 

Buck sits beside him and rests a shaking hand over Eddie’s hand, under the blankets where it’s trying to be warm. Buck would give anything to keep him warm, and alive. 

Eddie needs to stay alive. He needs to. 

Buck rests his forehead on the side of the bed near their joined hands. He would say something if he had the capacity to form words and sentences. The only thing in his head right now is, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.

And that’s probably all he can say. All that really matters. 

Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please, don’t ever leave me.

(read now on AO3)

[dinneronvenus]

Doesn’t Matter Now

⭑ Gojo x fem reader

⭑ inspired by the song “doesn’t matter now” by flyingfish (listen to that while you read for max effect)

⭑ tags: ANGST ON 100, description of a jujutsu technique that forfeits the sorcerer’s life, death, a funeral, a hopeless and depressed Gojo goes to a medium, hinted reincarnation

⭑ synopsis: Gojo already lost his only true friend, so he never thought losing a woman could hurt him so badly

“There’s nothing you could’ve done, Gojo. You didn’t even know.” Utahime spoke softly, her own pain wanting to break through in her voice. “Nobody did.”

Gojo remained silent, eyes glazed over, a cocktail of negative emotions mixing in his mind. He couldn’t even look at Utahime, whose outfit would remind him of you. They stood in the ruins of the shrine your family had built and ran for generations. It had come under attack by many cursed spirits and you had fulfilled your duty to protect the people who lived and worked there, as well as its secrets. With everyone else safe, it would be rebuilt and restored to its original glory, something that should have been a silver lining.

“It is not uncommon for a high priestess to give her life for her people.” Utahime said, voice breaking at the end. This brought Gojo even less comfort.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I hadn’t heard her say those exact words to me before?!” He snapped, still not able to take his eyes off the scene in front of him. It was Utahime’s turn to stay silent.

In the middle of the leveled temple, there was the evidence of your bravery. A set of heavy stone doors bearing an ancient inscription, left open by whatever you had summoned to walk through them, loomed over the two sorcerers. Gojo already knew they’d be used as a gate to honor your memory and remember your sacrifice. His eyes begged to see any scrap of you in the rubble. Maybe this was just a trick, and you were hiding behind one of the doors.

“What could her technique have been to have killed her in the process?” He whispered to the open air, not thinking anyone could’ve heard him.

“Gehenna Gate, it is a technique with the highest of costs,” A raspy voice broke the unbearable quiet. It was your mother, who despite everything, managed to keep a small smile on her face for your surviving friends. “I am sorry she never told you that properly. She wanted to protect you, in her own way.” Her hand came down on Gojo’s shoulder and the kindness in her touch almost burned him alive.

“I didn’t… I wish she…” Gojo stuttered out, hot tears stinging his eyes. Your mother pulled him into a hug, shushing him like a child.

Five days later, your funeral was to be held at your family cemetery in the mountains overlooking the temple. Gojo had no idea how he would survive that. He spent the time until your funeral looking for someone who could communicate with the dead. Thanks to his power and connections, he found one the night before and prepared himself to have one last conversation with you.

“Welcome, sir. I assume you’re here to see Mistress Takemi?” The young man spoke just loud enough to be heard over the jingle of the bell from the door shutting behind him.

“Yeah, and she knows already so I’m just gonna head back there,” Gojo sauntered through the foyer and down the hall to the back room where a woman in black and purple robes standing over a large glass table was waiting on him.

“Welcome Satoru,” she spoke cheerfully with a deep voice that echoed her years of life.

“Don’t call me that. Can we get started?” The overly familiar attitude irked him. The woman cleared her throat and dropped her cheerful act.

“I suppose we can get right to it then.”

The woman had a technique that essentially made her into a human ouija board. Her hands rested on the glass table and it began to glow a soft greenish-blue. Gojo could see the dark circles and puffiness of his eyes in the reflection, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself for being this unable to accept that you were gone.

“Satoru?” His name again, but this time he could hear your voice mixing with Takemi’s voice. He said your name in disbelief, tears of joy in his eyes.

“Yes, yes! It’s me, I wa—”

“You can’t do this, Satoru. It’s against the laws.”

“Please, don’t tell me that right now. You hid so much from me, please just let me ask you one thing.”

Silence. Fearing he’d miss his chance, he went ahead with his question.

“Did you ever really love me?” The depth of sadness and desperation in his voice was unbearable to you, even in your disembodied state. “Why couldn’t you have told me? I could’ve helped you, I would’ve done anything to have saved you.”

“In the mountains where they’ll bury me, follow a trail that begins with pink and white flowers. You’ll find everything you want to know at the end. Goodbye, Satoru.”

“No, no, no,” He wiped the tears from his face and gripped both of Takemi’s shoulders, shouting. “Please come back! I can’t do this again!”

Regaining full control of herself, Takemi pushed Gojo off her and had him escorted out of her shop. The whole world was one hideous shade of grey. He walked for a while with no destination in mind but the grave. He wanted to go find that trail right now but he didn’t have anything else left in him. He wanted to sleep for the rest of his life. Returning home, he set his alarm and went to bed with your instructions in mind.

Utahime and Gojo walked with each other up the mountain to the funeral site. Utahime thought it was odd but refreshing to see him dressed in more traditional clothing. Just one more thing that only you could get him to do.

Everyone took their places, and your father stepped up to the podium. “We are gathered here to send our beloved high priestess to her place of final rest with her ancestors…”

Once the funeral was complete, no one but Gojo, Utahime and your mother lingered too long.

“I’m sorry again for your loss, ma’am.” Utahime said, bowing deeply. Your mother gave her another one of those wise, otherworldly smiles.

“I don’t think I’ve really lost her.” She said before taking a last look around the cemetery and turning to leave. “Why don’t we give him some space?” She motioned to Gojo and Utahime followed her.

Now alone with your memory and your ghost, Gojo began to look for this trail you had mentioned. It took him a while to find it but when he did, his path to the end was quick. It led to a small clearing where the grass was lush, and he was consumed by the smell of many different kinds of flowers and plants. The sight of the small garden was as beautiful as you were to him.

Looking around for anything that could be the answer you spoke of, he saw a faint bit of energy coming from inside a tree. When he got close to the tree, he found it had a hollow spot in it where you’d left a diary. He fished it out and walked to a shaded place in the clearing to begin reading it. Every page was an entry about the two of you together. All of your private feelings from when he was just a crush, and once you had gotten closer, you even glued in pictures you’d taken together.

Gojo couldn’t control his tears or hide his sobs. His body shook against the tree as he held the diary close to his chest. He calmed down enough to continue reading it, with the last entry being dated a week ago.

She knew she was going to die… He thought. You had written about the rise of cursed spirits in the area of increasing numbers and strength and how you felt like it was time for you to fulfill your duty to your people. More than that though, you wrote about how you wished you could have told Gojo. How you wanted to stay with him forever, how he was the only thing you’d ever loved as much as you loved the Gods, and how because of that you wanted to make sure he was safe and didn’t have to fight for once.

It was all too much, Gojo swore he would drown in his own tears right there. The wind picked up and blew the diary’s pages, landing on entry from before you two had met.

6.25 — Training Notes: after a long session of training and studying my technique’s history in my family. I have learned of a way I might be able to circumvent its cost. If I summon a deity of destruction that has the ability to reincarnate, then I will reincarnate too! One of my ancestors did that long ago, although it took 59 days for them to come back.

Gojo couldn’t believe what he was reading. He wiped his eyes on his sleeves furiously and scrambled to his feet. He stored your diary in an inner pocket of his kimono and made his way down the mountains to the temple ruins.

He inspected the gate and found exactly what he needed to be able to accept the loss of the only woman he’s ever loved. Utahime was strolling the grounds when she noticed him in the air, getting a close look at the doors.

“Gojo, what do you think you’re doing? Get down here!” Utahime found his behavior so disgraceful. He chuckled on his way back to earth.

“I was just checking on something. Had to be sure that I wasn’t seeing things.”

His eyes were red and puffy, but his annoyingly cheerful attitude was starting to return. Utahime couldn’t tell if she was relieved or annoyed.

“Checking on what?”

“Eh,” Gojo put a hand over the diary in his pocket.

“Doesn’t matter now.”

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

wc — 500

tags — reminding you once again as I always do that teen dad Gojo and reader are child soldiers who should be experiencing some kind of trauma from their experiences, title inspired by Leila Chatti’s poem I Went Out To Hear, an extra scene in teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together  

It’s impossible to call life with Gojo boring, but it’s what you want for him, for both of your boys. They’ve had enough hardship in their life. Heroes make for interesting stories but miserable lives. If you could spare them all that, you would. 

Sometimes, in the dead of night, you can’t sleep. You have to get up to creep into Megumi’s room, stroke his hair and remind yourself that he’s okay. Then you can’t rest without checking on Gojo, though you know he’s fine in the shared bedroom you just came from. 

He comes and finds you five minutes or less after you’ve gotten up, he always does. If you’re gone, he wakes up almost instantly. 

He always looks for you. If he finds you by the counter, nursing a glass of cold water like you always do, he’ll slot himself between you and the hard marble, caging you in with his body. You say cage because there’s no other way to describe it, but that’s not what it feels like. The pressure calms you down, reminds you that this home you’ve made for yourself is safe. Megumi is safe here. Gojo is invincible. 

He’ll run his knuckles down your face and drape his arms around you. Sleepily, he presses his face into your neck, alternating between soft kisses and sweet words. His breath ghosts along your skin, a pleasant warmth. He always smells faintly of mint and citrus, a hint of jasmine, because you mentioned you liked it once and he never forgot. 

“Don’t worry, my love,” he says, and it’s always my love when you wake him up in the dead of the night. “I’m here.” 

He’ll hold you until you stop shaking, soothed by his presence and the familiarity of the kitchen you designed together. It’s a reminder that this life is one the two of you share, that he’s yours. You picked the marble for the countertop together. Shoko gave you the glasses from your wedding registry. The white cabinets with their blue accents are your decision, because blue is your favorite color. 

The lights overhead have a brightness setting that you can dim to be more comfortable, and in his embrace, you relax. When you’re ready, he’ll guide you back to bed, still refusing to let go. It’s with his steady weight behind you, a promise, that you can finally drift off. 

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Don't Worry Today, Face It Tomorrow

kai parker x reader

summary: kai's been lonely enough in his life to sense something's off with you. tonight was a good time to trust his intuition.

tags: mental health issues, depression, loneliness, late night conversations, suicidal thoughts, emotional hurt / comfort

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this is a fic i kind of wrote for myself but still want to share. i somewhat vaguely made the reader's problems my problems, because i needed to talk them out, but struggle to do that with people, so i do it through my writing. i wrote this a little while ago but have been hesitant to post it bc i didn't want to worry my readers by posting so many sui/sh related fics, but as explained in the ending note of this fic on ao3, i'm entering a new stage in my life where i hope i can start writing gentler & more lighthearted & fun fics again. i've been in a dark place these last couple months and have completely lost myself as a person, but i'm actively trying to make my life one where i'm not afraid to be present. i saw a quote recently that said, "...if hope is out of reach, try curiosity instead," and so that's about where i am rn. but anyway, i hope, despite it's heaviness, you guys like this, or maybe, it helps you feel less alone. <3

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You roll your eyes at the familiar voice. Of course he’d come to disturb your peace. 

“What do you want?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. The sound of shuffling indicates he’s coming closer. “Just checking on you.”

“I don’t need checking on. I didn’t the last time, nor the time before that, and certainly not this time. Can’t you catch the hint that I want to be left alone?”

“See that’s the thing… the hints are all there, I’m just choosing not to leave you alone.”

Fully irritated now, you shift your whole body to face Kai. Annoyingly, he leans against the restaurant’s chimney, unbothered by the heat that must be emanating from it. His arms are crossed over his chest, but his usual smirk is replaced with a somber look.

“Why?”

“Because…” He isn’t looking at you. In fact, he seems to look right through you, perhaps into some far off world or a deep void that threatens to swallow you whole. “...You look like someone who shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve climbed up here five times in the last two weeks. You’ve been acting distant. You don’t eat, I doubt you sleep. Everyone’s worried about you, and they have every right to be.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Maybe I just like it up here. I can see the whole town. I’m in it, without being in it. It’s peaceful.”

If that was supposed to comfort the young witch, it didn’t. He tilts his head against the brick. “And what about the rest? Are they right to worry about you? Are these new habits you’ve seem to have adopted secretly a cry for help?”

You narrow your eyes. “Of course not, that’s insane. I told you, I’m fine.” Before he can ask anything else, you continue. “And what’s it to you? Why do you care? If they’re so worried, why don’t they come and bother me instead?”

“Because they haven’t followed you to the extent I’ve followed you.”

“Comforting.”

“They see you at lunch, not talking, not eating, not laughing. And then they see you go home, usually early, and not come out for days. They acknowledge the fact you haven’t answered their texts in days, and they know you’re not feeling well, but they’ve barely scratched the surface.” He pauses. “I’ve been studying you. I see the dullness in your eyes, and I can tell apart a real laugh from a fake one. I’ve begun to notice that right before you’re about to make up an excuse to go home, you tap your nails on the edge of the table. You scan the restaurant, making sure the coast is clear, so that you can make a sure shot to the door without being interrupted.” You open your mouth to speak, disturbed by the detail, but Kai interrupts. “I’m a sociopath. I notice things in a person’s behavior that are missed by most.”

“And why do you think all these ‘things’ are reasons to have you so worried? Maybe I’m just tired of socializing.”

“Maybe. But I’ve been alone for a long time and I know how it feels. How it feels to be hopeless, and anxious, and exhausted, in a way that goes beyond needing a couple more hours of sleep. I might not’ve been under the same circumstances, but I remember searching for the nearest, tallest building several times when I was locked in that prison world. Let me tell you, the view is nice, but when you finally get the courage to walk up to the edge, the fall is not.”

Your eyes had dropped back down the roof’s floor, but they snap back up to him quickly. His words make your heart race with sudden anxiety. When you try to open your mouth to respond, nothing comes out. It takes a moment to recover. 

“How many times did you try?” Invasive, but he’s sharing, so you ask anyway. 

“Truth be told,” he surprisingly answers, “I lost count.” He inches closer to you, but you don’t move away. “I couldn’t die in there, but that never stopped me from trying.”

“Until Damon and Bonnie got there.” 

“Yes, but I was alone for eighteen years until they did.” He sits beside you now. “Maybe you can see why I was so determined to get out.”

“I could see it before,” you admit. 

You know most of Kai’s background. You know he had a big family, most of which are dead now. You know he has been in and out of prison worlds for most of his young life. You know his time spent in those other worlds was deserved; he wasn’t just a sociopath, but a serial killer, as well. Only recently did he finally stop hurting people, afraid of ending up in another one. It was a deal he made with the brothers and Bonnie.

Kai is less afraid of death than being alone. Hell would be a cakewalk compared to the prison worlds. 

“My father ensured I couldn’t die so that I wouldn’t be able to take the easy way out. And then again, in 1903, the heretics could only dessicate; they couldn’t die, either. Guess my ancestors have some deep-rooted fascination with eternal suffering. The twin merge is a curse. You either die or kill your sibling before you’re old enough to rent a car. Then, if you live, you have to marry and watch your kids do the same. And if you die before you have merge-able kids, whoops, the death of the coven is on you. Like, imagine you get hit by a car and die, and so does the whole three hundred year old coven. That’s embarrassing. Imagine explaining that to the ancestors in hell.”

You snort and let out a laugh. 

“Obviously, I don’t care about my coven, and I only wanted to be the leader so I could prove that I could, but it does suck that we’re all nonconsensually born into this life and can’t get out of it. It would be easier if we didn’t hate each other so much, and that instead of life being one big game of dog-eat-dog, we could come together and be like, ‘Hey! This sucks! Can we try to figure out which ancestral bitch cursed us and maybe reverse that? We’re supposed to be witches, right?’”

You laugh more now. A genuine laugh, amused by Kai Parker’s unusual bareness and honesty. Never had you had such a sincere conversation with him. Frankly, you didn’t know he was capable of opening up as much as he is now. It’s nice. It’s the most meaningful conversation you’ve had recently, and if you’re honest with yourself, it’s healing. 

Not only do you know Kai’s background, you know his loneliness. Of course, you’ve never been in his shoes exactly, but you know what it’s like to feel helpless. Sometimes your parents teach you about pain before anyone else has the chance. Sometimes your friends break your heart the hardest. Sometimes it feels like there’s a target on your back and everyone’s carrying arrows. 

You don’t need to experience the same trauma to relate to someone, you just need a little bit of courage to speak up about it. The right people will listen. Those who understand. 

“I said before that I understand why you were willing to hurt Bonnie and Damon to get out,” you say. “I stand by that still.”

“You do?”

“I met your father once. I was friends with Liv before she skipped town, and he came to her dorm when I was there. He was cold.” You pause, rubbing your arms as a chill runs through your body. Whether it’s the cool night breeze or the memory, you’re not sure. “He smiled, and he made a joke, but his posture was rigid and his eyes were dark. It was like looking into the face of a snake that could strike at any moment. I was afraid to look away, yet afraid to look right at him.”

“He was never a warm person. He loved his wife, and did love my siblings, I think, but coven always came before family. He would betray even those closest to him in a second if asked. I was always told it was complicated for him, but it’s pretty simple. He never hesitated. It was obvious. There was no right vs wrong war in his mind. Guess it makes him a good leader, though. Maybe.”

“Not a good leader,” you argue, “but a dedicated one.” Kai seems to ponder that. “My family’s the opposite: they are complicated. They say one thing, but expect the other. Everything is a guessing game. You’re never quite sure what they want from you, and nothing’s ever good enough. Life feels like a competition: you have to do the most, study the hardest. There’s a thousand boxes to check by the age of twenty-three, and if you don’t complete them, you’re never going to catch up, never going to make them proud.” You’ve ranted a little, spoken somewhat quickly, but Kai follows along with great understanding. “I have a relatively big family, too, and they’re all over the country checking boxes. I live in a small town, with goals only big enough that I won’t feel like a failure if I don’t achieve, and spend every day just trying to stay alive. I’m the biggest disappointment to them and it’s so obvious.”

“Looks like we’re both family disappointments. Do they know about the supernatural?”

“Oh, god no. Their heads would explode.”

Kai laughs. He sees you shiver again and silently unzips his sweater. You startle a bit when he puts it around your shoulders, but then welcome the warmth it brings. It smells like him, so you pull it closer, finding that as a new comfort. 

“Thank you.”

“It’s technically Alaric’s-”

You start to pull it off, “ew-”

He stops you with a hand to your back. “But I’ve had it for months.”

“How’d you-?”

“After Damon woke me up when they put me on ice. I’d siphon the magic from Caroline’s mom on two conditions: one, he’d let me merge that night, and two, I could borrow a sweater.”

You chuckle, then let it envelope you again. Kai’s hand leaves your back, taking some, but not all, of the new warmth with him. He stretches out, leaning back on his elbows, and watches you copy the position. Your knees touch gently, though neither of you move. He studies you again, eyeing your face for tension, but finds your lips slightly parted in a relaxed state. You aren’t afraid of him; you aren’t trying to get away. 

The only person who isn’t taut as a band around him is Damon, because the vampire’s confidence and strength matches that of the young witch. But here, you’re only human, full of emotion and exhaustion, and alone on a rooftop with none other than the self-proclaimed sociopath himself. If your friends knew, they’d surely be freaking out, and maybe an hour ago, the thought would panic you, too. But now, at this moment in time, you’re completely calm. You’re trusting him. 

“So what’s the verdict?” He says out of nowhere, speaking up in the dead of night. The restaurant crowd left some time ago, and the roundabout hasn’t been driven through for less. In the far-off distance, you can hear a dog, but it stops after a few barks. 

“What?”

“How are we getting off this roof tonight?” You look over to him with an eyebrow raised. “Are we jumping, or are you gonna climb off with me?”

You ponder the question. Truthfully, you didn’t climb up today with the full intention of climbing back down. If Kai hadn’t followed you up, you, as he put it earlier, may have made it to the edge. 

But now, with both of your hearts and histories spilled out in front of you, things are different. Things are harder, because he’s involved. Yet, at the same time, things feel easier. He’s involved. He listened, and he shared his own story. You found common ground and it brought you closer than you’d ever imagined you could be with him. Hell, lately, with anyone. Somewhere, deep in your heart, you feel a bit of hope. 

“I’ll be honest,” he starts, “even though I’m out of the prison world, finally leading this dumb coven, and somewhat surviving in this town, I’ve considered it. I thought getting out would be a fix-all, and once I was, I would be okay, but I never imagined that life outside of it could be as lonely as my life was there. My coven still controls me and my family still hates me, and I wanted to get out and prove myself, and live, but now, sometimes,” he struggles for the right words, “I can’t find it in myself to care anymore.” He looks over to you to find you nodding, understanding. “I could die a hundred times over in the prison world with little consequence, but here, death is permanent.”

You offer a smile and a second of silence before agreeing. “Sometimes its permanence is a comfort, but sometimes a hindrance. It's permanent, I’ll never have to carry this weight again. I’ll never be a burden, or a failure, or a disappointment. But at the same time… what if I regret it? What if I’m halfway through the fall, or lying in a hospital bed, and there’s no saving me, but suddenly, I regret it? Or what if we’re conscious in the afterlife, and I miss the body and soul I once had, but gave up before my time was up? It haunts me. I have decision paralysis over dying. I wish I could make up my mind.”

Kai’s never cared much for other people, but in this moment, he knows if you got any closer to the edge, he’d hurl himself forward to pull you back. He sensed something was off about you earlier. You’d been climbing up here for weeks, but this time felt different. Necessary. 

“How about this? Climb down with me and we don’t have to make any decisions. Okay?”

“So the decision is to make no decisions?”

“Exactly.” He sits back up, outstretching a hand for you to take. “Let’s go get a coffee or something, and we can worry about it later. And, maybe, tomorrow won’t be so bad, and we can put off that decision making a little bit longer.” Kai manipulates slightly. He knows there is no decision to be made - it’s not a yes or no - but an ultimate decision on when you will take that step closer to the edge. So, if he can distract you day by day, and put off that ultimate decision, he could, with time, pull you from the edge, and eventually, off the roof. 

And that is a decision he is willing to make. He’s never cared much for other people, but something about you softens him. His life hasn’t been a fulfilling one. He hasn’t accomplished much, and he’s done little that makes him proud of himself, but you make him want to change. Be better, do more. Even if he only does one good thing, he wants to do it. He wants to save you. 

“Okay,” you finally agree, taking his hand. “Coffee sounds nice.”

For the first time of possibly many, he helps guide you back down the stairs, onto the safety of the pavement ground. You keep a hold of his hand all the way to the twenty-four hour diner two blocks down, and the whole time, he can’t stop smiling. 

[vintageshanny]

Waiting for Love - Part Five

Never Enough

Content: Late July 1970-December 1970 (this picks up right where the last part left off 😉 and then we jump ahead a little bit), marriage problems, infidelity, smut, angst, fluff, 18+

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!

Catch up here: Waiting for Love series

Vivien’s body shuddered from pleasure as Elvis’ tongue continued its magic like a sorcerer’s wand. Elvis used the fingers on one hand to spread her open so he could dip his tongue inside her while the thumb of his other hand rubbed her clit. As the increasingly familiar wave of euphoria began washing over her body, he quickly moved his mouth to her clit, flicking it with his tongue and then sucking on it gently as he slipped one long finger inside of her. He was careful not to be too forceful, but it was enough to send Vivien over the edge.

“Oh god, oh god, Elvis,” she moaned, clenching around his finger, her legs shaking on either side of him. As her body started to float back to Earth, she felt him give a soft kiss to her most sensitive spot before lifting his head and scooching up on the bed, laying his body on top of hers. He leaned down to kiss her lips, and she tasted a tanginess that she knew must be her own arousal. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling a little embarrassed about the sheen across his lips and chin, but Elvis just smiled tenderly and buried his face in her neck.

“Ain’t nothin’ ta ‘pologize for baby, ya taste even sweeter than I thought,” he said, but he could feel his own face flushing as he continued. “I was hopin’ you could k-k-k-kiss me there now sweetheart, like ya did before. I-I-I need ya real bad, honey,” he murmured into Vivien’s soft skin.

“Of course, Elvis, I said I would,” she responded, gently caressing his scalp with her fingertips. “I’ve been looking forward to it actually. I want to make you feel good the way you always do for me.” Elvis gave her neck a little nip with his teeth, took her glasses off and set them next to his own on the nightstand, and then rolled onto his back, letting Vivien climb on top of him. He was aching so bad he thought he might rip right through his pants. Vivien carefully unbuttoned his cherry blossom shirt and opened it, revealing a fuzzy trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his pants. The way he was staring up at her with that need in his eyes emboldened her to lean down and kiss her way down the trail. Once she got to the waistband of his black pants, she slowly undid the button and pulled down the zipper, her heart thudding right out of her chest. Elvis lifted his hips a bit so she could slide the pants down, and his hard cock sprang out, bouncing slightly, no underwear to confine it this time. A string of a sticky-looking substance that connected the tip of his penis to the inside of his pants pulled apart as Vivien pulled the pants all the way off of him. She leaned in closer to examine his leaking tip.

“Uh, th-th-that’s jus’ some pre-cum baby, ya jus’ got me so excited already,” Elvis explained nervously.

Vivien smiled, wrapped her hand around the base of him, and leaned in to lick the stickiness off his sensitive slit, eliciting a low beautiful moan from his lips. “You taste good,” she whispered. “I want more.” She leaned in again and took him in her mouth, moving her lips as far down his shaft as she could before sliding them back up, her tongue swirling around him. She liked the way he was throbbing in her hand. This seemed to work better with him lying down in bed than it had when he was standing and she was on her knees. She liked that she could easily explore the rest of him with her hands while she took him in as deep as she could. She kept one hand steady near the base of him, enjoying the feel of his pubic hair against her skin. With the other hand she gently fondled his testicles, then kept moving it down, following along a soft seam that seemed to lead to his other private area. As she traced back and forth along that little seam, Elvis’ moans turned high-pitched, his hips bucking up, causing him to thrust himself deeper into her throat.

“Oh god, Vivien, I’m gonna-” he started to groan out just as she felt him pulsing in her mouth, something warm filling her throat. She swallowed as much as she could before gagging a little bit and pulling her mouth off of him, watching the way his face looked in a moment of pure physical pleasure. It warmed her inside to make him feel so good. “Are-are ya okay, honey?” he asked, opening his eyes and looking at her. His tone was concerned, but his face and body still looked very relaxed.

“Yes, I’m better than okay,” she reassured. “I love to make you feel so good.” Ah, that crooked smile. Vivien’s heart melted. She curled up next to him and lay her head on his chest, feeling the soothing heartbeat under her ear.

Elvis pulled the covers over them to hide his now fully soft member from view. “Whatchu thinkin’ ‘bout, honey?” he asked as he traced his fingers over the bare skin of her arm.

“A couple things,” Vivien said with a soft smile. “One is that I hope you know you don’t have to hide your body from me after we’re…intimate. I think you look perfect all the time, even when you’re inside your cocoon.”

Elvis let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Cocoon huh? Naw, baby, I ain’t hiding, I-I-I was jus’ cold,” he lied, his face flushing.

Vivien just smiled and let her hand trail underneath the blanket, all the way down past his abdomen to where his thick soft cocoon lay resting. She felt his breath hitch as she ran her hand softly over it. “Mm-hmm, okay good,” she said, not believing him for a second. “The other thing is that I was wondering what it will feel like when you make love to me,” she whispered. She could hear his heartbeat pick up speed at the thought of that.

“Honey, if ya decide ta give that precious gift ta me some time, I will make sure it’s so special for ya, okay?” He leaned down and softly kissed the top of her head. “So what do ya wanna do with your life, Vivien?” he asked suddenly. “Ya tryna be an actress or somethin’?” From his almost suspicious tone, Vivien guessed he’d had many girls throw themselves at him who were trying to be “an actress or something.”

“No,” Vivien responded. His relief seemed almost palpable. “I, um, I know it sounds old-fashioned, and Roxanne always tells me this is a silly goal, but I always wanted to just get married and have a family. Both of my parents worked a lot when I was a kid. Maybe it’s just a case of wanting what you didn’t have, but I’d love to stay home and take care of someone. To just be there when they need me, y’know? I’m sorry, that probably sounds ridiculous to someone so ambitious like you,” she apologized, feeling silly.

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous at all,” Elvis smiled. “It’s kind of like what I do in a way, trying to just take care of people and make them happy. My mama had to work when I was little too, and it was such a proud day for me when I could take care of her and she didn’t have ta do that no more.” The tenderness in Elvis’ voice when he talked about his mama pulled at Vivien’s heartstrings.

“That’s really sweet the way you took care of her. Any woman would be so lucky to be taken care of by you,” she whispered.

“Well, not every woman seems to feel that way,” Elvis murmured. She could feel him tense up a little bit, and she knew he was thinking about his marriage.

“Can I ask you something? Do you ever think about getting divorced if you’re so unhappy?” She held her breath nervously, hoping she wasn’t crossing a line.

Elvis sighed softly. “I think about it, but I jus’ don’ what ta do yet. I’m tryin’ to sort things out in my mind. Especially now that I know…” he trailed off.

“Now that you know what?” Vivien prodded.

Elvis cleared his throat a little bit. “Now that I know there might be someone who’s exactly what I’ve been lookin’ for.” He kissed her head again. “I jus’ need ya to be patient and keep enjoyin’ our time together. Can ya do that baby? Is that enough for now?”

“I hope so,” Vivien whispered, but deep down she feared she’d come crashing back to reality the second she was back alone in her apartment.

*************************************************

Elvis drummed his fingers nervously against the phone receiver, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. “W-w-what are ya sayin’? Ya don’ wan’t me no more?”

“Elvis, no, of course I want you. I want you so badly.” Vivien’s eyes welled up with tears. “I’m just so confused. I haven’t heard from you in three weeks. This is all just so much harder than I ever thought it would be.”

“W-w-well, I-I-I’ve been busy, honey,” Elvis protested, the irritation rising in his voice. “I had to finish rehearsals, we had opening night and now two shows every day, I-I-I can barely keep up with it all. I-I-I was callin’ cuz I want ya to come see me and watch me perform. I need ya here to keep me sane. You’re all I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout.”

“Why didn’t you want me there opening night?” Vivien asked, her voice barely audible. She already knew the answer before he sighed and tried to explain without really saying it.

“Honey, I-I-I did wan’t ya there, it’s jus’ that I have certain routines with people and I’m tryin’ ta figure it all out right now. I told ya ta jus’ be patient. It won’t be like this forever.” His voice sounded almost pleading, and Vivien knew she couldn’t go see him right now. She’d never be able to say no to him in person. It was breaking her heart just to hear him like this on the phone.

“Well maybe I should just give you some space to figure it all out then. I never wanted to cause you any problems. I didn’t know I was going to…to feel so strongly. I think I just need to take a step back for a minute.” Vivien could feel herself starting to ramble, unsure of what to say to make him understand how painful this all was. “When I come see you, it’s like I’m on a high, like I’m happier than I ever thought possible. Then I come home and don’t hear from you and there’s an aching in my soul.”

“B-b-but it’s good to know the pain of tenderness. That’s jus’ part of life, part of love,” Elvis whispered hoarsely.

“I understand that, but in the moment it just hurts so badly. I think I just need a break to think about things,” Vivien tried to explain, the words escaping her lips before she could think better of it. They hung in the air like a cloud of doom, and she could feel the tension growing.

Elvis swallowed harshly. It was the same old thing. He thought he found someone special, maybe even a soul mate, and all of a sudden they need a break from him, from his life. Why couldn’t anyone understand that his life had to be like this? That he could no more control it than a bullet whizzing through the air? Did anyone think that maybe he wished he could take a break from it all? All he gave, everything he did to take care of people in the best way he knew how, it was never quite enough. He was never quite enough. “Okay,” he muttered and hung up the phone, his vision blurred with tears. He punched the wall and went to get some ice for his knuckles.

As the click and the dial tone resonated in her ear, Vivien couldn’t stop the cascade of tears that she’d been holding in to the best of her ability. What had she done?

*************************************************

“Oh, Viv, I’m so sorry. I really thought he’d have called again by now.” Roxanne squeezed Vivien’s hand as they sat and talked the weekend after “the conversation.” “Tell me again what you said to him.”

“I told him maybe I need a break while he figures things out,” Vivien whispered, twisting her emerald ring around on her finger, remembering the way Elvis would fiddle with his own rings. She couldn’t seem to do anything without being reminded of him. “I don’t think I even really meant it, I just was feeling so sad and confused. I hoped he’d be understanding, but he sounded kind of…mad. Or maybe just upset I guess.” Roxanne cleared her throat a little bit and glanced away. “What? You think he was right to be upset with me?” Vivien questioned quietly.

“Honey, I think you were completely right to feel sad and confused. Falling in love can be confusing, and I can only imagine what falling in love with Elvis Presley would feel like. But just think about how your worries might have sounded to him. That being with him is sad and confusing and you need a break from him. Sometimes people hear things a certain way when they’re upset.”

“But that’s not what I meant at all!” Vivien protested. “I don’t actually want a break from him. I want more of him. I know his life is busy and crazy and difficult, and I just want to be the one who’s with him through it all.”

“I think you need to tell him that,” Roxanne said gently. “Then at least he’ll really know how you feel.”

“I think it’s too late,” Vivien said, brushing her tears away. “I’m sure he hates me now. I think I really hurt his feelings, Rox. And I can’t just show up on his doorstep to explain.”

“He’ll call. He’s probably still busy with his shows, but he’ll call eventually. And in the meantime, just keep living your life. Things usually have a way of working themselves out. And you always have me, Viv, okay?” Vivien nodded silently and Roxanne pulled her into a hug.

*************************************************

How many seconds were there in four months? Elvis wondered to himself as he stared out the window of his den at Graceland. That’s how many times he’d thought about Vivien since that devastating phone conversation. He knew he should call. He should have flown out to get her that very night and told her that she belonged to him, that he never wanted her to feel hurt again. He’d known ever since his pretty little June left him at the train station that his life was just too crazy, too much for one woman to handle, but Vivien had made him feel a flash of hope. She lifted him up, she made him feel good in so many ways, she wanted all the same things that he wanted. He sighed and twisted the black star sapphire ring on his finger. He’d tried to distract himself all fall with the touring, with buying a new car, with collecting badges and guns, but nothing could make him forget her. He needed to tell her. It couldn’t wait any longer.

*************************************************

“Oh, yeah, Rox, I’m sure he thought it was really sexy when I started crying while he tried to kiss me. I heard guys love that,” Vivien said sarcastically into the phone receiver as she attempted to string some Christmas garlands up in her apartment. She’d always loved the holidays, and she was really in need of some cheer right now. “I don’t know, I guess I thought a normal date would help, but I just can’t get him out of my mind. Apparently pretending he doesn’t exist is not the same as getting over him.” Vivien was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. She glanced at her watch and saw it was 10pm. Who on Earth? she wondered as she swung the door open.

“Honey, ya really should be more cautious opening the door at this time of night. It coulda been any weirdo out here,” Elvis said with a nervous little grin. Vivien’s mouth hung open as she looked him up and down. He was wearing a black velvet suit and his tinted glasses. His hair was a little longer than the last time she’d seen him, and he looked a little more tired maybe, but just as beautiful as ever. “C-c-can I come in?” he stuttered, wondering if maybe this was all a mistake. Vivien nodded wordlessly and stepped aside so he could enter.

“Roxanne? I’ll have to call you back,” Vivien murmured, hanging the phone up on the hook by the door. She tried and failed to resist the gravitational pull into his open arms.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart @richardslady121 @helen06dreamer @arg-xoxo

[spatialwave]

𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒.

"𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑”

pairing: angus tully x fem!reader | benny o’donnell x fem!reader word count: 4.9k summary: with the party in full swing, you find yourself trapped between an unstoppable force (angus) and an immovable object (benny). it’s a love triangle you’d never asked to happen, but when you lacked important decision making, you could only get away with so much. while drunk, high, and full of emotions, you’re hit with a question — who will you choose? warnings/tags: mdni! slight mostly censored smut, kissing/making out, sexual touching, angst, hurt/comfort, underage drinking and drug use, jealousy, love triangle, name-calling, emetophobia/reader v*mits. notes: only one more chapter!!! :')

<- chapter three. | chapter five. →

This was your first time at the moonlight tower, a large, slightly wooded area that was lit up by the floodlights fixated on the large structure. By the time you arrived, the alcohol and weed in your system had been diminished to minimal effects––you were not here to be sober, you knew that much. 

“Where’s the kegs?” You were the first to ask as the vehicle rolled to a stop amongst the sea of others, some still sitting in their seats, gossiping and toking. Sliding out of the back, you landed on the grass with a soft huff as you looked around. You had never seen this many people at a party since you moved here, your lips curved up into a smile as it reminded you of the wild nights back home in California. A bonfire on a beach with dozens of drunk teens, basking in the bright moonlight and fresh smell of the ocean… oh, how you wished you could show Kaye and Shavonne the beauty of it.

“I see one,” Kaye pointed ahead as you girls stayed together in a flock, your eyes drifting to the side as you walked past two boys smoking from a bong, one of them nearly coughing up a lung.

“I should've stolen beer from Teddy when I had a chance,” you murmured, “You think Wooderson got enough kegs for everyone here?”

“You’d be surprised at his ability to know exactly what he needs,” Shavonne grinned, showing her pearly whites as spun on her heels to walk backward toward the party, “I think you have a drinking problem, Missy.”

“Me?” You gawked, pointing your finger against your chest with a quizzical look plastered on your face.

“Either that, or you’re trying to get drunk so you can avoid dealing with the consequences of your actions,” she chewed on your bottom lip, grinning when you couldn’t formulate a response, “Bingo! I knew it.”

“You can’t lead them both on, you know,” Kaye spoke from your left, another cigarette already lit and resting between her fingers, “and this is coming from someone who doesn’t give a shit about men and their feelings, but Angus,” she murmured, brows furrowing together, “he’s a really nice guy. Nicer than Benny could ever be.”

Her words made your stomach coil uncomfortably, cringing at the mere idea of finding Benny and telling him it's over. It wouldn’t bother you so much, sure, you’d miss his touch and comfort that was a near-addiction… but it would be hopefully replaced. You weren’t certain that he would feel the same.

“No, no, no,” you shook your head, “No lecturing me tonight! I’m allowed to make dumb decisions, and my first dumb decision is pounding back as many beers as I can hold.”

“Oh, god,” Kaye grinned, “I’m not taking care of you at the end of the night.”

You could only hold two beers, both had settled nicely in your stomach, having chugged them within 5 minutes of each other, and you were delighted to feel that familiar buzzing in your system that kept a smile settled on your lips. Sabrina had wandered off somewhere, likely to find Tony, while Shavonne just finished excusing herself so she could spend some time with Elise and Darla––much to your dismay. You could already imagine the gossip that would spread.

Clutching your third drink now, you and Kaye had settled against a large tree, standing side by side and watching as people laughed together, some stumbling after drinking far too much too quickly. Normally, you’d be right in there, dancing to whatever song was playing and shooting back beers like there were no tomorrow, but even two beers couldn’t settle your racing mind.

“What if I piss off Benny?” You turned your head to look at your brunette friend, meeting her darkened gaze as she finished off her second beer, “I mean, maybe I’m overthinking it, but it feels like he’s into this way more than I am.”

Kaye inhaled as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Is it going to be harsh?” You asked, crinkling your nose as she nodded, “Go on.”

“You need to break it off as soon as possible because I may not know Benny on a personal level, hell, I don’t like him on a personal level, but he’s been starting to look at you with these eyes that scream ‘I am in love’. Or at least infatuation, I think love is too strong,” her words making your eyes widen, “you need to pull the brakes on it before you go starting something with Angus. Neither of those boys deserve that.”

“That’s not fair, Angus is still dating Elise,” you pouted, lifting a hand up to feel your cheeks that were beginning to feel uncomfortably hot, “Those are double standards.”

Kaye smiled, reaching a hand to your other cheek and giving it a few gentle pats, “Life sucks, doesn’t it? It’s a man’s world.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” You blinked a few times.

“Not at all.”

Both you and Kaye shared a good laugh as you both grew tipsier as the night went on, practically attached at the hip as you wandered around to find another keg. Four beers was a bit much, you knew this the moment that you got halfway into the red solo cup because you felt a pain in your stomach, and you did not want those cheese fries coming back up.

You weren’t drunk yet. Very buzzed? Absolutely.

“I’m going to go back to the car, I forgot my cigarettes,” Kaye said into your ear before disappearing into the sea of people. You stayed put for a few seconds, thinning your lips as you held your cup and looked over the partygoers, but you were on the brink of being downright drunk, so of course you couldn’t remain still.

Tossing your unfinished beer over your shoulder, you decided to venture around and see who you might run into. Confidence coursed through your veins as you stopped to talk to people here and there, mostly classmates, sometimes a few random people that seemed either too young or old to be seniors. 

You couldn’t help that you were a chatty drunk. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Benny’s voice was hot against your ear as you felt arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you up until your feet were off the ground.

“Benny!” You laughed giddily, kicking your legs until he placed you back on solid ground. You spun around quickly, looking up at him as his arms remained around you, hands settling on the curves of your hips, “You’re drunk,” you told him, lifting a hand to playfully tug at the ball cap he wore.

“You’re the drunk one,” he chuckled, taking a few steps back with you as he settled against the side of his truck, your body still completely wrapped by his strong arms. 

“Hardly drunk,” you murmured, chewing on your bottom lip as you stared up at the blue-eyed boy, the one you’d spent many nights with. The one who knew your body better than anyone else.

It was a nasty predicament to be caught in, though, it had a rather easy answer. It just so happened that you were too weak to say what needed to be done, even drunk. You couldn’t stand there in his arms and even begin to imagine the look of disappointment on his face when you tell him you need to end things, not tonight. Not on your first night of freedom after junior year.

Fuck, this really wasn’t fair, was it?

“Did you wanna’ come to my place later?” Benny asked, his hands migrating further down your back until they were low enough to grab at your ass, a cheeky smile on his lips.

You let out a shaky exhalation, lips twitching––just do it. 

“Maybe,” you smiled, ignoring the gnawing reality in the back of your head and displacing it until you were sober again, “What’re you going to do? Try steal me away from the party?”

You really did have a problem. Kaye was right, you fed off of male attention, and Benny just so happened to be the one showering you in it.

“Yeah, I’d steal you,” Benny winked.

Only a few minutes later, the two of you were in the cab of his truck, him sitting in the middle with you straddling his hips as you sat over his lap. You’d been in this position dozens of times, his hands on your hips as your lips moved together desperately, tasting beer, cigarettes and mint gum. Your arms were always snug around his neck, fingers brushing into his tight curls after knocking the hat from his head.

Neither of you seemed to care that anyone could watch if they wanted, hell, Melvin and a couple of girls were sitting in the truck bed laughing and drinking, completely unbothered by the horny teens that were seconds away from undressing each other.

“Fuck, Benny,” you whimpered against his lips, tilting your head back so he was forced to pepper kisses along your jaw and neck, sending shivers down your spine.

The world spun as you stared up at the ceiling of the truck’s cab, eyelashes fluttering as you felt him suck a mark just underneath your ear and too dazed to try to push him away or berate him for doing so. You just kept your hands in his curls and your chest pushed out as his lips trail down your collarbone and around the straps of the floral halter top you wore.

Both of you had no intention of stopping, the beers in your system removing any and all inhibitions. Gone were the thoughts of Angus, and Kaye’s advice––all you knew was that right now, you had someone willing and eager to give you the attention you desired. It wasn’t so bad to know what you wanted.

Benny’s hands trailed up your bare sides, fingers pressing underneath the tight fabric of the top that clung to your skin as his lips moved down your exposed cleavage. You could feel your body growing warm, your hips twitching over his lap as you parted your lips to let out a quiet sound.

“You’re so perfect,” you heard him say under his breath against your skin and somehow, those words managed to stir a sour feeling in your stomach. Back came Kaye’s voice about how Benny was infatuated with you, and only now did you understand what she meant.

The poor guy wanted you more than just nights like these, he worshipped the very ground you walked on. He wanted to call you his.

Your hands dropped from his hair and rested on his shoulders as a hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers teasing at the knot that kept your halter top covering your chest. As you swallowed a lump down your throat, you tilted your chin down to meet Benny’s gaze, seeing the way his blue eyes sparkled.

This was bad.

“Woah!” The sound of a voice startled you both, Benny’s hand quickly dropping as you both looked over and saw Mel standing at the driver’s door with the window rolled down, “Didn’t know you guys were putting on a show for us,” he grinned from ear to ear, wagging his eyebrows at you.

You felt like you were going to be sick as you slid off of Benny’s lap and settled into the passenger seat, looking out the front window as the boys chatted. You didn’t quite make out what they were saying, but something about a keg needing to be tapped.

“Hey,” Benny caught your attention, your eyes flickering to him as he put his hat back on, “I’ll be back in a bit. You’ll stay here?” Your mouth had gone dry and all you could do was smile and nod, feeling your heart tighten as a smile spread across his lips while he left.

You were silent for a minute, blinking a few times as you looked ahead at the tree Benny had parked toward. 

“Nope, no,” you breathed to yourself, turning to the door and quickly opening the handle, “I’m not staying. Fuck this. This is stupid,” you slurred. 

Without looking back, you slammed the truck door shut and walked as far away from Benny’s truck as you could, eyes staring straight ahead while putting one foot in front of the other and focusing on not tumbling to the ground. The now four beers inside your stomach had settled fine, but left you teetering on the edge of being downright drunk, and it was too early to be plastered just yet.

Your breath quickened as panic coursed through your veins, leaving you on the brink of hyperventilation with thoughts swirling through your mind angrily. Kaye’s voice ringing in your ears, the look of love on Benny’s face… Angus’ smile. You curved your path around a tree in hopes you would find a place to collapse and cry, but you ran right into someone’s chest.

“Fuck, sorry,” you groaned, reaching forward to grab onto the fabric of their clothing so you didn’t fall back. As your eyes flickered up, you were greeted with a small smile from Angus Tully.

Maybe things really did work out for a reason.

“Don’t apologize,” he smiled, eyes a bit reddened, and you could tell that he had been indulging in smoking with Slater, “Was hoping that I’d run into you sooner than later.”

His words made your stomach twist again and all you wanted was to find your friends, maybe find a quiet place to empty the contents of your stomach and end the night with cold water and more greasy food to put you to sleep. You had only been at the party for less than an hour, and you were content with going home.

Being wrapped up in drama wasn’t your cup of tea, but you let yourself dig deep into this one.

“You okay?” His voice vibrated through your spinning head as you stared up at him with heavy eyes. You could make out the sincere concern he had, it made your cheeks warm to think he was worried about you.

“I’m fine,” you replied, forcing a smile on your lips as you took a step back, “Just lost Shavonne and Kaye, so I’ve been wandering around looking for something to do.” 

Lies.

“Why don’t you come climb the moon tower, man?” Slater’s voice had startled you, “... Maybe not, you seem jumpy, man.”

“I’m not jumpy,” you cleared your throat, smiling shyly as you looked over to the long-haired stoner who shoved his hands into his pockets and made way for the tower beyond the trees. Pickford was following closely behind.

“Come on,” Angus stepped forward and nudged you playfully, “It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

You watched with curious eyes as he stepped past you and toward the tower, leaving you in your spot, feeling small and hopeless. It took a few seconds to calm yourself before you made the executive decision to force your brain to stop thinking and just start saying ‘yes’ to whatever came your way. 

All goddamn day you waited so patiently for a night of partying and here you were wishing you could just sit down and cry. Not tonight. This was your night.

“Why do they call it the moon tower?” You asked once you’d reached the large structure, watching closely as Slater and Pickford had started climbing up the ladder situated in the middle of the metal bars. Both of them had moved to the sides to clear the way of the ladder, hanging onto the various poles and looking out toward the sea of teens, then down at you as you followed Angus.

“Uh,” Angus breathed out, glancing down at you for a moment to watch you start climbing up the ladder before he continued going up, past the two stoners, “I guess they put it up here whenever they were building the power plant. It’s actually a good idea, you got a full moon out here every day of the year, you know?”

You crinkled your eyebrows together as you adjusted your hands each time you stepped up the ladder, feeling hot underneath the bright lights and trying your best not to think about how high you were with each passing second. Angus moved up the ladder and right past the two boys hanging around with ease like a pair of monkeys in a tree, grinning from ear to ear as their eyes watched your meticulous movements.

“Yeah, but nothing’s ever been repaired, so this whole place could fall down at any time,” Pickford spoke, eyes full of mischief, “So you better watch your step.”

Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to them—gasping when Pickford fell back, pretending of course and leaving your stomach churning. You muttered an insult at him as you inhaled a sharp breath, reaching the same height as them both as Angus continued his trek to the top.

“This place used to be off-limits, man,” Slater said to you, hugging onto the pole with heavy, red eyes watching your every movement, “‘cause some drunk freshman fell off. He went right down the middle, smackin’ his head on every beam, man.”

Your face crinkled in disgust, pausing your movements when you came eye-to-eye with Slater, “Nice try, asshole, I’m not easily persuaded by urban legends.”

The long-hair teen chuckled as Pickford began scaling the moon tower from the outside, “I’m being serious, man, you think I’d lie to you?” He asked, fighting back more laughter, “The autopsy said he had one beer, how many did you have?”

“Four, and I’m doing just fine,” you rolled your eyes, smirking as you pulled yourself past him, closing in on Angus who had paused to wait for you. Your eyes connected in an intense stare and a blush coated your cheeks, the sound of Slater’s voice warning you muffled and inaudible.

“Shut up, Slater,” Angus grinned, shooting you a confident wink before continuing his trek. God, he really knew how to work you.

By the time you’d reached the top, you were finally feeling so tipsy that your fear of heights had completely vanished. You looked in awe at the horizon of lights that came from the small town—it was peaceful up here, away from everyone else. It felt like this came straight out of a movie scene.

“You show this tower to all your girls?” You asked Angus, sitting on the platform with him and letting your legs dangle off the edge while resting against the metal that fenced you in. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “so, get in line. I have a waitlist.”

“Jerk,” you giggled, shoving his side with your elbow as you two sat side-by-side. 

A joint had been passed around again, coming to you three times before you were pleasantly high and staring off into the void of the night sky. It was a new moon, so the moon tower was the only light—it was beautiful.

Slater had started up a conversation about how many people were fucking then and there, pointing at the lights from town. You just sat there and listened in to the banter between him and Pickford, finding the boys comforting after a moment of panic.

“You sure you’re okay?” Angus whispered to you, his big brown eyes settling on you and surrounding you with comfort, “you seem… off.”

“Off?” You questioned, acting oblivious, “I’m fine. Just… tipsy. Stomach hurts a little, I guess.”

He didn’t believe you because you hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes as you spoke, chewing on your bottom lip to force back any lingering emotion. It’s not like you were going to sit here and talk to him like Kaye, spilling your guts about your insecurities with the situation you had going with both him and Benny. That was a can of worms you wanted to keep shut.

The two of you sat in silence, your chin resting against the metal bar in front of you that kept you steady and from falling off the tower.

“You’re a bad liar,” Angus huffed, your eyes drifting back to him to see his jaw clenching. Was he upset?

“Not lying.”

“Then why is your face all red?” He questioned, and you grew defensive.

“Why are you being so nosy? It’s none of your business.” You spat back, anger filling your body. This was not where things needed to go.

“Is it about Benny?” He tilted his head with a raised eyebrow, eyes piercing into yours. You felt judged by him for the first time ever, “I don’t know what you get out of sleeping with him, like his own personal little… plaything.”

“Can you stop?” You snapped loudly, pulling your eyes away and feeling tears form. The four beers really were too much, three would’ve been just fine, “I don’t need your fucking judgment, Angus, that’s a new low.”

The double standards were there again.

“Not judging,” he mumbled, “just think you can do better, is all.”

“And what? What’s better for me? Tell me. Are you better? A boy who just insinuated I’m some… slut!” You shifted in your spot, sitting sideways so you could look at him with fire burning in your eyes. You hadn’t even noticed that Slater and Pickford were descending the moon tower and giving you both space.

Angus stared at you dumbfounded at your question as he dealt with the consequences of his poor wording, lips slightly parted, but he wouldn’t say it. You wished he would, confirming the feelings out loud that you two had been dancing around for weeks.

The silence was thick and nauseating. 

“That’s what I thought,” your voice cracked, “you’re a fucking asshole, Angus. I hope you know that and live with it for the rest of your miserable life.”

Without allowing him the space to say anything, you scrambled to your feet and got the hell out of there. You could hear him calling down for you as you carefully made way down the ladder, shoving past Slater and Pickford, who had been waiting at the bottom. Tears stung your eyes and dripped down your cheeks as you felt the world’s weight on your shoulders.

Kaye was right. This was a man’s world and there was nothing you could do to change that, the cards were never in your favour.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as you walked through the wooded area in hopes to find your friends, or maybe a bottle of water at the very least. A familiar feeling hit the back of your throat as your mouth pooled with spit—shit.

You made it to a bush just in time, bending over and letting nature run its course as you emptied your stomach with a few heavy gags. If it weren’t for that damned Top Notch trip before heading to the Emporium, you’d be fine.

The night was ruined. You eventually found water from a very generous sophomore who took pity on you, nearly guzzling the entire water back and swishing it around your mouth until you couldn’t taste the acid on your tongue anymore. With embarrassment filling you, you decided that it would best if you just took a break from everything going on.

The world hadn’t felt like it was spinning anymore, but you weren’t very coordinated with your movements. The second the music and laughter sounded distant enough, you fell back onto the grass and looked up at the night sky. The moon tower's distant light made it hard to see the stars.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been laying there, ten minutes or an hour? You just stayed there, fingers splayed in the grass and inhaling the scent of nature. Maybe you’d just close your eyes and sleep there, it’s not like there were any wild animals around… that you knew of.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice interrupted your isolation. Angus’s voice. He sounded worried.

You pouted, throwing both hands over your face, “what do you want?”

“I thought you left, or something happened to you,” his voice was full of disappointment, “you can’t just run off like that when you’re drunk.”

You listened as his footsteps closed the distance between you both, a quiet grunt coming from him as he sat in the grass next to you and laid back.

“I can do what I want,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes covered, as if it would somehow make him leave.

A heavy sigh left his lips, “I’m sorry.”

“Is that all?”

“Look, you can stay mad at me, I get it. I was a total fucking dick and took it too far,” he admitted casually, eyes looking up at the void above you both, “...I’m jealous of Benny.”

That was new. 

Slowly, you dropped your hands from your face, head turning to the right so you could look at Angus. His face was just visible, the moon tower’s light barely reaching beyond the trees that covered you both.

“Really?” Your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper.

Angus looked at you, too, his eyes so soft and sincere. It was impossible not to fall in love with him.

“Please don’t make me say it again,” his lips cracked into a smile that was contagious.

You bit the inside of your cheeks as your stomach swirled furiously with a complicated mess of feelings. Love, anger, sadness—arousal.

“It still sucked,” you reminded him, shifting onto your side with your arms bent and acting as a pillow. You weren’t sure you’d ever get that line out of your head, Angus referring to you as nothing but a toy for Benny. Sure, the alcohol and weed hadn’t helped his filter, but that was a deep wound and would need some time to heal.

“I’m really fucking sorry,” Angus whispered, meeting you halfway and rolling to face you, “Seriously. I fucked up.”

“Yeah you did,” you thinned your lips, “but I think I could learn to forgive you.”

That caused a smile to spread on the boy’s lips, “I’ll work really hard. Like, overtime hard.”

“You’re stupid,” you laughed, the air between you lighter and digestible.

“I’m going to break up with Elise.”

Seriously, what the fuck?

“I…” you stuttered, blinking a few times, “really?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand reaching forward and resting on your red cheek, “I like someone else.”

His touch made your heart flutter, having been waiting for this intimacy for weeks. Dreaming about it each night as you manifested—praying to god that it would work. You were so desperately in love with Angus Tully that it was laughable.

“Who?” You asked coyly, smiling small and sheepish.

“The prettiest girl at this party,” he smiled, “just so happens to be laying in the grass somewhere with a real troublesome boy. I heard he’s a dick.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled, “I know who you’re talking about. He is a real dick. The worst, actually.”

Both of you shared a small laugh, smiles reaching your eyes as the world finally felt calm, and you could simply bask in each other’s presence. It wasn’t enough, of course.

“Can I kiss you?” Angus whispered, almost like his voice would disrupt this moment.

“I just, like… threw up,” you crinkled your nose.

“I don’t care.”

Within a matter of seconds, you had been pulled until you were atop him, knees on either sides of his hips and straddling. Lips met in a furious, long-awaited kiss, and you saw stars.

Large hands gripped your hips and held you steady, a tongue flicking against your lips until you got the message and invited him in. It was sloppy, messy and wet, but neither of you cared if it wasn’t perfect. It was like years of pent-up stress and pining finally released, and neither of you would be coming out of this unscathed.

“Angus,” you whined into his mouth, hands pressed against his bare chest where the buttons of his top had undone. Nails scratched the surface of his skin, leaving red marks in their wake, as your body was heavy atop his.

He fed off your mewls of pleasure, lapping up your sounds with his tongue as you both moaned filthy, warm breath into each other’s mouths. You were both desperate for each other’s touch, hands wild as they travelled each other’s bodies.

Your hands lifted to his curls, his unbuttoning your jeans until he could sneak a hand inside.

Cries of pleasure fell from your lips as his fingers pushed into your underwear, leaving you a shaking, shuddering mess that could barely stay upright.

“Angus. I need you,” you whimpered into his ear, lips and hot breath brushing against the shell of his ear. You could feel the bulge in his pants, blocked only by your clothes and the fingers that he’d slipped inside you to coax out your beautiful sounds.

It was raw, passionate and heady. The two of you attacking each other with quick hands until your clothes were either pulled off completely or barely hanging onto your body.

Moans spilled from your lips as you rolled your hips together in slow, sensual movements—crying out into the void as you whimpered his name over and over until you were both met with a pleasant release.

Angus Tully would be the death of you.

[ghostxrose]

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 | 𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five (final)

Note ~ Happy holidays, Lovelies! I'm sorry that it has taken a few days for me to post the final part, I've been busy with work and adulting, haha! Anyway, I hope that you all are excited for this finale to this fic and love it as much as I do! It will be the shortest part yet at barely 900 words but in my opinion it came out so adorable, though I am biased, haha! Well, enough with my rambling, enjoy the read My Wonderful Lovelies! <3

Tags/Warnings ~ Fem!Reader, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Emotional, Temporary Character Deaths, Depictions of Injuries, Potentially Triggering Content, No Use of Y/N, Hurts So Good (let me know if I should tag anything else <3)

You were nervously playing with the end of your long dark braided hair as you walked up to the door of the classroom. You still couldn’t believe that you had gotten into U.A., let alone the Hero Course. You smoothed over your uniform then slid the door to Class 1-A open.

Your eyes swept over the few students already in the classroom then you looked up at the board for the seating chart. When you looked back to the sea of desks and located where yours was, you saw a tall blue-haired boy sternly lecturing an ash-blonde boy sitting at the desk behind yours.

You quietly made your way over to your desk and slid into the seat, making the blue-haired boy halt his lecture towards the blonde behind you. You turned in your seat to face them and gave them a shy smile when you saw that both were staring at you.

The blue-haired boy was staring at you in what seemed to be recognition but you weren’t quite sure since you had no idea who he was. But the ash-blonde boy was glaring at you intently and you couldn’t figure out what you had done wrong.

“Hi, I’m..” You introduced yourself shyly, your violet eyes darting between the two nervously.

The blue-haired boy gave an.. enthusiastic.. greeting while the blonde just made some sort of dismissive noise and turned his head to look out the window. You felt a pang of something hit you in the chest briefly before turning around to face the front of the classroom again.

After the teacher had come in and introduced himself, he had your class change into P.E. uniforms and then meet out on a baseball field. You listened as he explained what you would be doing and what the purpose of the test was before he called up a student to demonstrate one of the exercises.

“Bakugo..” Was all you heard your teacher say before your ears tuned out the rest.

You watched the crimson-eyed ash-blonde walk up to the teacher and grab the ball before moving to the pitching mound. It was like everything happened in slow motion as you watched Bakugo wind up his arm and throw the ball.

Not even the explosion from the boy’s hand could pull you out of the daze that you had apparently gone into. Your eyes met his as he walked back to stand with the rest of your classmates and you found something so familiar within all of the crimson.

You went through the series of Quirk tests completely absent from reality. It’s like you were on autopilot and out of your body until you heard Aizawa Sensei’s words dismissing your class. The other girls from your class had picked up on your strange behavior and tried to make sure that you were feeling okay. They wore worried looks on their faces as you all changed in the locker room and made your way back to the classroom.

By the end of the day, you had still felt like you weren’t back in your body. Or rather, you felt like something was missing, maybe? You couldn’t pinpoint what was going on, you just knew that you had felt off.

As you walked towards the school gates to leave, you spotted a familiar head of ash-blonde hair. You moved faster to catch up to him, unsure of why your brain thought that he would have any answers as to what was wrong with you.

“Bakugo, hey, wait a sec-” You called out as you reached for his hand.

As soon as your skin made contact with his it was like a movie started playing on fast-forward in front of your eyes, right in your mind. Flashes of different worlds, and different realities, different settings filled your vision and made you feel unsteady on your feet. Along with the flashes came feelings; unthinkable heartbreak, overwhelming joy, unimaginable physical and emotional pain, peace.

Finally, your vision cleared and you felt tears dripping down your face. You looked up at Bakugo and saw his wide shiny eyes and almost unreadable face. You felt his warm hand gripping yours almost too tightly.

Suddenly, Katsuki’s arms were wrapped tightly around you and you automatically reciprocated the action.

“My Love.” You murmured into his shoulder.

“My Violet.” His raspy voice whispered into the crook of your neck.

…

…

…

Every lifetime after that one began like that; forgetting your past lives, finding each other, remembering, then living out your lives until you died of old age.

You always passed away peacefully and always in each others’ arms.

And every time, the Goddess of Fate smiled with pride for the both of you.

You and him would never know it but the Goddess of Fate had never laughed at your shortcomings, had never found joy in taking you away from each other so early within your past lives.

The Goddess of Fate had just done what she does best; tied your souls to each other, put you through as many trials as you needed to prove your compatibility, then gave you both the peace you deserved.

You and him were never star-crossed lovers tied together as a joke, you were always meant to be true soulmates.

You and he were always meant to be Eternal Lovers...

One life after another, forevermore.

Author's Note ~ And we have reached the end of this fic *wipes tears* I loved writing this fic so much. The amount of emotion that I poured into this fic is something that I have trouble with doing again now. It was a special kind of inspiration that I had felt when writing this fic and I crave to have it back to be honest.

Even though they won't compare to how this fic turned out, let me know if I should post my other fics here! I would love to get some tips or comments about what I could do better! I don't want to be a one hit wonder, you know? I want to share my works and have them be good enough for people to really enjoy. So, please let me know what you think!

I love and appreciate every single one of you, Lovelies! <3

Tag List ~ @damnirina @queenpiranhadon

Divider Credit ~ @archonfurina

[popjunkie42]

The Thief and the Rake: Chapter Five

Chapter Five: They Said I Did Something Bad II Read on AO3

Summary: Forgotten by all good society, the Archerons receive a surprise invitation from a distant relative that gives the sisters a chance for one single season in London. One single season to lie, scheme and attract a rich enough suitor to marry Miss Elain and pull them out of poverty for good. It's a lucky thing Feyre Archeron has perfected the skills of lifting the burden of extra wealth from those too laden to notice a few coins skimmed off the top. Unfortunately for her, the Viscount Rhysand Sterling catches her in the act...and then insists on hiring her for her services. Can the Archeron sisters make it through a London season alive and with their reputations intact? A Regency AU.

Chapter Five: Feyre goes hunting.

I hope you like Feysand banter! Rhysand is here and he is not going to fade into the shadows...

Thanks and love to @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta read and endless support.

Read on AO3 or have a Chapter 5 snippet under the cut!

The sweet sound of Elain’s laughter filled the dining hall in the Lambton manor, followed by the gaggle of gentlemen around her. A ridiculous sight, the one bright glowing lady amidst her many admirers.

Nesta and Feyre watched from a distance, small glasses of punch in their hands.

“So everything is going as planned, then?” Feyre asked.

Nesta took a dainty sip from the porcelain teacup. “If someone worthwhile comes around.”

Feyre laughed with shock. “The Grand Duke has visited twice. He’s on her dance card tonight.”

“We can’t put all our hopes on just one gentleman. Besides, he’s a man. They’re fickle.”

The sisters watched as Elain’s dance card fluttered from her wrist to fall onto the ground. One of her audience, a man in a smart brown jacket with long tails, kneeled to pick it up, offering it to her with a hopeful smile.

“What do you think they all talk about?” Feyre asked.

“Themselves, of course.”

Feyre scoffed. “Has no one’s caught your eye?”

Sometimes she swore she could feel the emotions of her sister like the shifting of the elements. The flame of her temper, the icy cold of her anger. Like the flare of the fireplace crackling with a new log against her face.

“We’re not here for me.”

“We could be. According to Elain, any of us could fall in love at any moment.”

A glance shared between them. The hint of a smile. Feyre swallowed against the hint of elation at Nesta’s approval, the two of them working together, watching their plan unfold.

Nesta wouldn’t have to know how close she was now to being caught and ruining everything. Let her sister think she’s succeeding, providing for them, just a little bit longer.

Feyre took a deep breath, fighting against the tightness between her shoulder blades. “I doubt anyone here could be found worthy of you. For you to find someone worthy of Elain will be hard enough.”

“And what about you, little sister? Walking around on the arm of that Viscount?”

Her face heated at the fire. The hint of an insult in her tone. Little feral Feyre.

“I’m not here to find a husband.” Too hopeful of Feyre to think her sister would offer her much kindness at all.

“What are you here for tonight, then?” Nesta eyed the glistening stones around her neck, worth more than everything in their closets and then some. “You’re not exactly being subtle.”

Feyre picked at a loose thread on her dress, unable to meet Nesta’s eyes. “I’m working.”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re working. It seems like you’re playing a game. Maybe a foolish one.”

Feyre’s eyes scanned the party. Looking for a now-familiar figure, clad in black.

“Maybe I’m hunting.”

Read the rest on AO3

Tag list:

@that-little-red-head @damedechance @rosanna-writer @fantasticalnonsense18 @dreamlandreader @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @annaskareninas @foundress0fnothing @areyoudreaminof @cauldronblssd @starfall-spirit

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Piedra del Sol

Prompt: I can’t get you out of my head

Pairing: Rodolfo ‘Rudy’ Parra x F!Reader

Summary: Fools in love without the common sense of telling the other (sounds familiar?)

Warning: Just fluff. Also my first time trying the xReader thing, which I’m not completely comfortable with, but ah well. Anything for #Fall4Rudy!

Tagging the master curator @glitterypirateduck and @sofasoap because she gave me the idea

You knew you shouldn’t have, but you did.

You allowed yourself to fall in love with none other than Sargento Mayor Rodolfo ‘Rudy’ Parra, while working as liaison between the CIA and Los Vaqueros.

To be perfectly honest, who would blame you? The man was a dream come true. Serious, honest, with a smile that brightened your day every time you managed to make him chuckle with a bad joke or your atrocious accent when trying to order at the bar.

And that he was damned attractive didn’t help either. The day you happened to find him lifting weights with Colonel Vargas was engraved in your memory and warmed many of your nights in your barely furnished apartment. 

And you knew where you went wrong today, too. 

You shouldn’t have accepted Alejandro’s invitation to hit the bar with the rest of Los Vaqueros. Seeing Rudy in civilian clothes took the breath right out of your lungs. It should be illegal how delicious a man can look in jeans and a white shirt, especially when it happens to fit a bit tight, and has a couple of loose buttons. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to look good yourself either. The way Rudy’s eyes darkened when he saw the little black long-sleeved dress you were wearing was enough to make your mouth water and press your thighs together. How in the world could he make you feel like a horny teenager with just his eyes was a mystery. You two hadn’t even exchanged anything more than pleasantries and jokes. 

‘‘¡Bonita! (Pretty one)’’ Alejandro promptly welcomed you with open arms, and you couldn’t help but smile and offer your hand. But he just grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his arms for a quick hug before turning around with you still in his arms to face the rest of Vaqueros, and the rest of clients at the bar. ‘‘You better behave yourselves, compadres (mates), this one is off limits, ¿oído? (understood?)’’

A mixed chorus of groans and laughter received his words, but you felt relieved. Local men were very forward with their vocal appreciation, and you had been asked out by at least five of them already until the Colonel had to hold a meeting to instruct his men about leaving you the fuck alone. 

But once their affection turned elsewhere, you were having a great time in Las Almas, if you had to be honest.

‘‘¿Qué tomas, bonita? (What are you drinking, pretty one?)’’ Alejandro asked, guiding you to an empty stool between the one he had been using and… Rudy. You smiled at the Sergeant Major, feeling the rush of blood in your cheeks when he smiled back, and then looked back at the Colonel to answer.

‘‘Just a soda, Ale, I have a virtual meeting at 7am and I don’t need the hangover’’ You smiled apologetically when he mockingly raised his hands in despair, but went to ask the bartender. You turned your head back at Rudy to find his eyes on you, and for a moment he looked startled, like caught in the middle of an improper act. Was that blush?

‘‘I… ehm… Is it normal to have meetings so early on Sunday?’’ Rudy asked, a bit rushed, as if he were trying to pretend he hadn’t been devouring you with his eyes. It made you feel good. It made you feel more than good. 

Maybe wearing the dress hadn’t been a bad idea after all.

‘‘Only when my boss is feeling particularly shitty I guess’’ You shrugged, not wanting to think about your boss at that moment. Not when Sergeant Parra was sitting that close to you, so close that you could smell his aftershave. Or his cologne. Whatever it was, it smelled good. Sitting next to him, you shifted in your stool to press your thighs together again, trying to ignore the warmth between your legs.

That man had no business being that tempting.

The night slowly went on, between laughs, drinks and smoke, and you didn’t even realize that the hours had passed until Alejandro gently tapped your shoulder to attract your attention.

‘‘Bonita, it’s almost midnight’’ The Colonel laughed at your startled face when you rushed to check your watch to find out that yes, it was. ‘‘May I call a taxi for you?’’

‘‘No need, Alejandro, the weather is nice, I’ll walk’’ You smiled, feeling grateful that you decided not to drink that night. The moment you rose to your feet Rudy was beside you.

‘‘I’ll walk you home’’ The Sergeant Major cleared his throat when the Colonel looked at him with an amused smile. Rudy lived nowhere near where you did. ‘‘I was about to head out anyway’’

‘‘Buenas noches a los dos (Good night to the both of you)’’ Alejandro smiled, waving while the two of you walked out, making your way among the growing crowd pooling inside the bar. You could feel Rudy’s hand guiding you, pressing lightly against the small of your back, and you resisted the urge to lean on him.

Outside, the night was warm and buzzing with activity. The streets were full of people enjoying one of the last summer nights, and soon you found yourself inching closer to Rudy every time another group walked too close. The first time your right elbow brushed his left arm, he immediately raised it to wrap it around your shoulders, keeping you close to his body to protect you from being bumped into.

You weren’t complaining.

Slowly, the ruckus died down as you entered residential streets, more silent and peaceful. You half expected Rudy to let go of you now that there was no danger of being pushed around by other pedestrians, but he didn’t, his hand firm on your shoulder, gently cradling you in the crook of his armpit. 

You dared to turn your head slightly to rest your temple and cheek on his chest, comforted by his slow and steady heartbeat. You felt his hand tighten holding your shoulder, and the rhythm of his heart quicken a bit. To any passers-by, you’d look like just another couple on a midnight stroll.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

‘‘No te puedo sacar de mi cabeza (I can’t get you out of my head)’’ Rudy murmured, all of a sudden, and your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t fluent speaking Spanish, your accent and your embarrassment prevented you from doing better, but you were fluent in understanding it. But that was a fact that only Colonel Vargas knew, the rest of the Vaqueros thought you barely knew some sentences.

As the two of you walked down your street, Rudy poured his heart out to you. How much he had tried to get over what he thought at first was a silly crush on the new face. How many times he had longed to be brave enough to ask you out when he had heard the others mentioning how you had rejected them. How many nights he had been awake, unable to sleep, just thinking about you. 

All of that he said in Spanish. And you understood every word.

Finally, you arrived at the door of your building, and Rudy sighed, starting to release your shoulder. But you turned around to face him, your hands reaching up to rest on his chest, looking up at his startled face.

‘‘Tell me something else in Spanish, Rudy…’’ You begged, your voice low and sweet, and beneath your fingers on his chest you felt his pulse falter. Hesitatingly, his hands found purchase on your waist, trembling, almost expecting you to reject him. But you didn’t.

Slowly, he leaned in until he could brush your ear with his lips, his breath raising your skin in goosebumps.

‘‘Amar es combatir, es abrir puertas,

dejar de ser fantasma con un número

a perpetua cadena condenado

por un amo sin rostro;

el mundo cambia

si dos se miran y se reconocen’’

(To love is to battle, to open doors, 

to cease to be a ghost with a number 

forever in chains, forever condemned 

by a faceless master; the world changes 

if two look at each other and recognize each other.)

You exhaled the breath you had been holding without realizing, feeling the brush of Rudy’s lips on your earlobe as he murmured the verses against your skin. Your fingers dig slightly in his chest over his shirt, and you felt more than heard the low grunt that came from deep within his chest. His hands gripped your waist tighter.

‘‘Isn’t that… Piedra del Sol, by Octavio Paz?’’ You whispered, brushing your own lips on the side of his neck, breathing him in, and you smirked when he tensed, feeling the warmth of his skin as he blushed.

‘‘How… you…’’ Rudy cleared his throat, feeling stupid, but his hands gripped you tighter, forcing you closer until your bodies were flush. ‘‘You understand Spanish’’

‘‘I do’’ You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his neck, feeling his quickened pulse. ‘‘But I think I need more Spanish lessons, Rudy… only if you are the teacher’’

He chuckled, one of his hands leaving your waist to cup your jaw and force you to tilt your head upwards, so he could see your eyes and your smile before he leaned in and kissed you.

‘‘Creo que tienes razón, mi amor (I think you’re right, my love)’’ 

The following morning, you missed your meeting. 

[meekahy]

I love you

Yall wanted a Jolly blurb right???

I've got one for you.

Please request or ask to be apart of the tag list!

Standing outside the green room, you can feel your heart pound in your chest. You and Jolly have been best friends for as long as you can remember. He invited you to come to the last show of the tour. So, here you are, waiting to get the courage to walk in. Why are you nervous? You plan on telling Jolly something you’ve been meaning to tell him for a very long time now.

Suddenly, the door opens and Folio stumbles into you. 

“Oh, sorry. Hey, what are you doing out here?” he mumbles. 

“I was just about to come in,” you say quickly as you start to walk around Folio.

“You know, Jolly has been talking about you nonstop for a while now, better go in and shut him up,” he giggles.

Your eyes widen as he chuckles. 

“It’s nice to see you!” Folio calls after you as he walks away.

“You too!” you yell over your shoulder. 

Before you whip your head around, you collide into someone. Not just anyone, Jolly. He barrelled into you as he saw you walk in. The hug was familiar and warm. He smells so good too, you thought. It ended sooner than you wanted it to. As you peel yourself away from Jolly, you look up into his smiling face. 

“I’m so glad you decided to come!” he tells you as he ushers you inside to sit. 

You wave your hellos to the other guys in the room and they return your waves and hellos.

You look Jolly in the eyes, his gorgeous eyes, “How are you? Have you been eating enough? Drinking enough water?” you ask like a mother hen. Questions just bubbled out of you.

Jolly chuckles, “I’m doing very well. I’ve been eating and drinking enough water.” He answers all your questions patiently. 

After a long conversation about God knows what, someone steps in and says that they boys go on in fifteen minutes. 

Jolly stands up, holds out his hand for you to follow him. You take his warm hand into your own as you stand. He doesn’t let go as he pulls you to the side of the stage where his guitars are at. 

He lets go of your sweaty hand. Oh my god, how long has your hand been sweaty? He must’ve noticed your panic because he asked, “Are you okay?” He walks over to you with a guitar in hand, face contorted into worry.

“Um, yeah, I think so,” you stumble over your words, “I think I just need to tell you something. I just don’t want it to ruin anything.”

He grabs your hand with his free hand and says, “Hey, nothing will ruin anything, okay?”

You nod slowly, it’s now or never. You squeeze his hand, “Um, I don’t know how to really say this without just saying it.”

“Just say it,” he says eagerly.

“Okay,” you close your eyes and breathe, “Jolly, I think I love you. You know, more than a friend.”

When you open your eyes, you see Jolly beaming at you. He squeezes your hand as he tells you, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that. I was going to say that to you some time today, But I’m very happy you said it first,” he chuckles. 

“Five minutes!” someone yells from somewhere close. You couldn’t tell since you were preoccupied. Jolly tears his eyes from you to look at whoever yelled and nodded towards them.

“Look, I gotta go, but enjoy the show, okay?” he says as he searches your eyes.

“I will, you’ll be great!” you exclaim. Jolly smiles at you and squeezes your hand again before pulling you closer by your hand. He pauses when his face is close to yours. His eyes leave yours as they drift down to your lips. Jolly captures your lips into a sweet, quick kiss that leaves you both breathless.

“See you after the show,” he says before darting away, putting his in-ears in. 

Jolly jogs up to the rest of the guys before Noah says, “Well it’s about time!” Jolly nudges Noah with his free hand while smiling uncontrollably. A few beats later, they are headed out on stage for the last show of the tour, all with you and Jolly happier than ever.

Tag list: @rottingfern

@ladyveronikawrites

@crimson-calligraphyx

@lma1986

[narcolini]

open wounds

frank castle x gn!reader, ex dating, hurt/comfort, 2404 words

for day 6 of whumpril : salve | painkillers | bad coping mechanisms

warnings for burns, implied suicidal intentions, terrible first aid probably

a/n: yknow when you love a character so much that you dont even know where to start with writing about them?? no?? just me?? im shaking in my boots... also huge shout out to @ashlingiswriting for helping with this!!

tagging: @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa​ (five times as requested)

He’s dripping wet. Frank, back at your door, for the first time in half a year, and dripping wet from head to toe. His jeans, his hoody, his boots—which must weigh a tonne, if they’re as full of water as the rest of him. He’s scrubbed his face dry, clearly, because the front of his hair is sticking upright, brushed up by the rough of his fingertips, and his cheeks are cleaner than the rest of him. Bare of the grime he’s covered in. If it wasn’t so obviously a bad thing—him being here, him being anything other than his usual self—you might’ve laughed. Might’ve joked about him choosing the worst church for an over-due baptism.

‘What the fuck happened?’ you scoff, bypassing all other greetings. You don’t even spare the thought to be annoyed at him, to tell him to go away, get out of here, before someone sees you. You just balk, and frown, and hang off the door as you look him over. ‘You look like you went free-diving in the river, Frank.’

He doesn’t respond, just sighs and tilts his head as if to say—

‘Oh my God.’ He did. He jumped into the fucking river. ‘That explains the stink, then.’

‘Yup.’

It’s pouring off him. Stale water, oil spill.

‘Look, I gotta ask you a favour,’ he says, awkward about it, though you’d thought as much already. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.’

And you wouldn’t let him in, either, if you didn’t have to.

‘Come in.’ The less time he spends in the corridor, the better. ‘Do I even want to know what you…’ The words fizzle out once you’re behind him, door closed and facing his back.

The material of his hoody has been singed away, not entirely, but across his shoulders and in patches down his spine, the t-shirt beneath in a similar state. He’d been set alight, somehow, long enough for it to burn all the way through. Two layers of cloth and then skin. Red, raw, skin.

‘Jesus, Frank.’

‘Had to put it out somehow,’ he shrugs, ‘seemed like the quickest option.’

‘Do you even realise how much shit is in that river?’

But he must do, of course, because he’s here. He’s not at home, self-medicating, slapping soap and water on it and hoping for the best. He’s here because he’s smart enough to realise bacteria will kill him easier and faster than any bullet would. Which isn’t usual, for most, but he has a knack for surviving no matter how many holes they put in him.

‘Bathroom, please,’ you tell him. You remember where it is.

You watch him nod in front of you, hands tucked in the sodden pockets of his hoody. He’s holding himself rigid—tense arms, straight shoulders—to hide the shakes, you realise. The wet has gotten into the bones, chilled him deep enough to send shivers through the muscles. Why he’s bothering to try and cover it, you don’t know. You’ve seen him in worse shapes.

When he reaches the bathroom, you in tow, he turns and waits. In front of you, on the curling blue bath matt beneath. It’s been a long time since you’d done him a favour. A long time, since you’d been alone with him, for reasons other than why this doesn’t work, why the two of you won’t work.

You sigh, close your eyes. He knows as well as you do what’s coming.

‘Am I in danger,’ you ask, feeling the sick twist of regime in your stomach, the edge of familiarity in the question, ‘by you being here? Is it putting me in danger?’

‘No, no, I promise.’ His head shakes. ‘No-one knows I’m here.’

‘You’re sure?’

He pauses, swallows. Nods. ‘It’s just me.’

‘And is it only the burns? Nothing else?’

‘I’d do it myself, but I,’ his teeth chatter, ‘I can’t reach.’

‘Okay.’ No surprise gunshot wounds, no broken bones. You can handle it, as long as you know what to expect. ‘I’ll do my best,’ you tell him, now you know it isn’t at your detriment, and turn to look through the cabinet above the sink.

‘Thank-you,’ he begins, which you try to wave off. ‘No, I mean it, I—I know you must hate…’ The words get away from him. A drop of water shakes from the peak of his hair onto his cheek. ‘Yeah, just, thank-you.’

You know what he’s implying. He’s as wrong about it now as he was then.

‘I don’t hate you, Frank.’

‘Well, you don’t like me much,’ he grumbles. ‘Not that I blame you.’

You don’t like his choices. You don’t like his instincts. You don’t like his susceptibility to getting himself in trouble, once a fucking week. ‘Take this off,’ you tell him, tugging at the sopping wet of his sleeve. ‘You’re shivering.’

He complies, jaw-setting as he pulls both the hoody and t-shirt over his head, no doubt having to rip the burnt-fibres from the edges of his wounds. He does well to hide it—if that’s the case—removes them without a hiss of pain, or any hesitation. The wet lump of them lands on the tiles with a slap, water splattering over your socks.

You fill the sink, making sure it’s lukewarm, cool. It’d be better to douse him with hot water, really, to stop the shivers and get rid of the smell, but the burns are more pressing. The very last thing they need is more heat.

‘Jeans and socks too. Then sit on the bath,’ you instruct before leaving the room. It isn’t for privacy’s sake, but to get your blanket from the couch and a clean towel from the closet. Get him warm, get the site disinfected, then cover it in Saran wrap and hope for the best. It isn’t as good as real, authoritative, medical treatment, but it’s better than he could manage by himself.

When you’re back, he’s done as you said again, and is sitting on the edge of the bath in just his boxers. A sorry sight, long past the invitation that it used to be. You’re sure there’s scars there that you aren’t familiar with, across his chest, below his naval, but there isn’t time to inspect them. He’s shaking still, and looking up at you like he’s sorry to occupy the space at all.

‘You ever treated burns?’ he asks, as you hand him the blanket.

‘Nothing like that,’ you admit. ‘Spin.’

He does. You put the towel on the floor beneath his back, where the drips will be, as he drapes the blanket over his lap. He isn’t shy about it now, how cold he is. He pulls the edge of the throw up to his chin, tucking his arms inside it, and gives a bigger, exaggerated shiver afterwards. Like he’s purging it, and inviting warmth to take it’s place now that it’s out.

Without the clothes, the burns look dangerous. Red and angry, almost the print of a cross over his back, with the worst of them sitting in a thick strip along his shoulder blades.

‘What even…?’ You brush a thumb by the edge of it, bending down to get a closer look; it’s not just a burn, but a scrape too, a layer of skin torn off like he’s been dragged over tarmac. ‘What happened, beyond the fire?’

You don’t mean the order of events that led to it, or the reasoning behind him shouldering fire in the first place—you’re long past caring or asking about his endeavours. Anything that ends in a list of dead bodies, people he’s killed, is none of your business. That stopped being your problem, the same time he did. But the longer you look, the less it seems like a simple, standard burn. The less you know about how to treat it.

Frank grunts, head dipped. ‘Over-estimated a jump. Slipped off a, a wall, going into the river.’

You wince. ‘Yeah, looks like you left a bit of your back attached to it.’

He puffs out through his nose. ‘That bad?’

Not by his standards, you’re sure. ‘Well. I think it’s saved you from the worst of the blistering, at least.’ The smaller scalds will, no doubt, tonight or tomorrow, but the wide abrasion across the top might have saved him from something more severe. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to put cream on them,’ you say, ‘but I’ve got an antiseptic spray that I think will be worth the risk.’ And the pain. ‘Okay?’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, without hesitation, ‘do what you gotta do.’

When you start at it with the water, poured slow from a mug and onto his back, he hisses. Sucks breaths in and out between the clench of his teeth, regulates the pain for your sake alone, you’re sure, and you can bare that. You can work while he does that, quiet and dedicated.

But when you move onto the spray, he swears, low and rasping, like he hates you for a moment. Like he’s angry at you, the antiseptic, the base of the bath that he thumps with his heel.

‘I’m sorry,’ you put quickly, unable to ignore it. ‘This is the worst part.’

Maybe bad enough, really, that you shouldn’t be doing it at all. In the grand scheme of things, agitated burns are better than infection, right? Better than leaving whatever germs live in the Hudson, to fester in the scrapes of his skin.

‘Keep going,’ he insists, through the clench of his jaw—so you do, grimacing each time he swears and flinches under you.

By the time it’s done, dried and wrapped, you’re both exhausted. Him more than you, that you can admit. He sits quietly on the bath now, waiting for the painkillers you’d promised. It’s the first time he hasn’t tried to convince you that he doesn’t need them.

‘Here.’ You hand him the pills, the glass of water. Watch him swallow them both, before sitting beside him, facing the opposite way. Shoulder to shoulder. ‘I think that’s about all I can do for you,’ you say, glancing at his waiting gaze.

He’s got his head turned towards you, dark eyes only inches away. You can’t match them for long. You’re looking back at the pile of wet clothes on the floor before you speak again.

‘If it shows any sign of infection, Frank.’

He puts the glass down, head shaking in the edge of your vision. ‘I’m not going to a hospital. I can’t.’ He’s dead already, he means, and waltzing into the ER would ruin the only leg-up he has.

‘Then someone who knows more than me, at least,’ you insist. ‘You can’t do any of your righteous, vigilante bullshit with sepsis, you know.’

‘I know,’ he says, and he means it. Sounds sore about it too, regretful, even. Not because of his health, but because of what it would take from him.

You let him sit with that for a moment, watching him drop the blanket from his shoulders and put his hands over the top of it instead, pooling in his lap. The shaking’s stopped now; without the wet clothes, and in the warmth of your home, it didn’t take long to scare them away. After the ordeal you put him through, he’s sweating instead. Damp across his brow.

‘Why d’you do it?’ you ask, though you’d told yourself long ago that you would stop asking him that. Stop wasting your breath on something that would never change.

‘Do what?’ He looks like he might laugh, glancing sideways at you, like he’s itching to say, you think I toasted myself on purpose? But it’s over-compensation, really. He knows what you mean.

‘Put yourself in these fucking situations, every time…’ You sigh. ‘You had a chance to get out, Frank. To start fresh.’

But why bother saying it to him? You know the answer as soon as it comes from your lips. You know what makes him do it. You know he can’t function otherwise. If bad coping mechanisms had a poster boy, he would be it. If self-hatred and self-pity was a competition, he’d win. He would lap everyone before they’d even got off the mark.

‘You’ve got to retire at some point,’ you tell him, which sounds like a plea you hadn’t aimed to give.

He scoffs, shaking his head. His thumbs toy with the edge of the blanket. ‘You know it doesn’t work like that.’

Not for him, that’s the truth, and it snowballs in your head until you say, ‘You’re gonna keep going until something kills you, aren’t you?’

He doesn’t answer, because he can’t do that either. Admitting it aloud, to himself or to you, would make it real. Undeniable.

‘Well,’ you start, bending the conversation into something liveable again, ‘you’re lucky your ex is so good at first aid.’ You shoulder him, lightly, smiling until he smiles back. Just enough.

‘Yeah,’ he breathes, ‘yeah, I am.’ He considers you for a moment, before tucking his chin and looking to his hands. ‘I didn’t think you’d be so,’ he hesitates, searching for the word.

‘Willing?’

He nods. ‘Thought I’d have to talk you into it.’

You snort, a real smile creeping onto your lips. ‘Would you have begged if I asked you to?’

‘I don’t know.’ His brows pinch together, thick and sorry-looking. ‘Would you have turned me away if I didn’t?’

‘No,’ you realise, because you had patched him up too often to let him suffer now. The blood on your hands has to have been worth something. ‘But I’d have taken an extra pass with that spray.’

He laughs weakly. ‘Yeah, that, I’d probably deserve.’

Because that’s his answer to everything, isn’t it? Every ounce of pain he endures, is nothing but a coin in the never ending debt that he owes himself. The only person that would ever expect it of him. The only one that thinks he deserves this, burns and wounds that he can’t fix for himself.

‘I think you should go,’ you say quietly, as your heart tugs in the opposite direction. ‘It’s late.’

Late, and approaching the longest time you’ve spent with him since the two of you broke up. Any longer and you might forget why.

[heqvenlymoons]

The Chronicles of Links & Connections [2]

I'm going to start a tag list for this fic! Comment if you want to be tagged when I post future chapters here onto Tumblr <3

Not a fan of the formatting here on Tumblr, it messed with the article and I'm not going to find a way to fix it 😭 I also can't figure out how to underline so~

Ch 1 | The Chronicles of Links & Connections Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 2: Clara Nightingale

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From: claranightingale@email.com To: mdcdesigns@email.com Date: 28 March 2023, 9:32 A.M. Subject: Thank You

Marinette, 

Thank you so much for the dress! It’s beautiful and fits my album theme super well. As a thank you, I’ve sent over tickets for my concert happening on the 10th of April, they should be arriving in your mailbox in the next few days. There should be enough for your entire class to attend, as well as a few backstage passes for yourself and your trusted friends!

Xoxo, Clara

From: mdcdesigns@gmail.com To: claranightingale@gmail.com Date: 30 March 2023, 10:02 A.M. Subject: RE: Thank You

Clara,

Thank you so much for the tickets and backstages to your concert, I’ve just received them! You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it all the same! I’ll be sure to attend your concert along with the rest of my class.

Love, Marinette

From: claranightingale@gmail.com To: mdcdesigns@gmail.com Date: 30 March 2023, 4:47 P.M. Subject: RE: Thank You

Marinette,

It’s no problem! It’s the least I could do after all your hard work on the dress. You kept insisting on giving me a discount even after I refused. I can only pay you back in another way. You deserve it!

Xoxo,  Clara

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April 10th, 2023— Collège Françoise Dupont, Paris, France. 

Marinette stumbled into the class just as the bell rang, her classmates giving her exasperated looks, used to her tardiness. She gave a tight smile before heading to the back where her seat was beside Felix, who looked up from his book to give her a look. 

“You live across the school. It is a wonder how you still arrive late to class every day,” he said, looking amused at her antics. 

She huffed, crossing her arms as she protested, “I don’t arrive late every day! It was my alarm! I turned my phone off yesterday and forgot to turn it back on before I went to sleep. My mom had to come and wake me up.” 

It wasn’t entirely the truth, Tikki had woke her up. There had been an Akuma in the middle of the night, she had to sneak out to deal with it as Ladybug and didn’t get any sleep until five. When her alarm rang, she had been too sleepy to get up. 

Felix tsked. “Today your alarm did not wake you up. What of yesterday? Or the day before? And the day before that?”

“Alright, alright. I get your point.” She grumbled, yawning as she closed her eyes and laid her head on their shared desk. 

She heard him sigh, and then he turned his attention back to his book, leaving her to catch up on the few minutes of sleep before class started. The familiar voice of Lila Rossi had Marinette muttering curses under her breath. 

“I’m really sorry for not attending our girl’s sleepover yesterday! There was a last-minute change of plans, Clara Night— Clara texted me about wanting to go shopping together and I just couldn’t refuse, it’s been a long time since our last hangout,” Lila said as she entered the class, making her way to Alya but still speaking loudly for the rest of the class to hear. 

Marinette sighed, muttering to Felix, “Here we go again.” 

He shook his head, scoffing. “She does this every day. How your classmates have not got tired of Miss Rossi’s voice is beyond me.”

The class raised to the bait, and in an instant, gathered around Lila in anticipation. 

Kim let out a gasp. “Clara Night? You mean Clara Nightingale? You’re close friends with Clara Nightingale? That’s so cool!” 

“Girl! You didn’t tell us you were besties with Clara Nightingale,” Alya said wide-eyed, bumping her shoulders with Lila’s. “And it’s alright, I get you. She must be busy a lot and it’s good that she still found the time to hang out with you.”

Lila gave a bashful shrug, smiling at them. “You’re my bestie, Alya. Clara and I are close, but not as close as me and the rest of you guys.” 

Rose let out a squeal, hugging her. “That’s so sweet, Lila!”

Marinette and Felix exchanged exasperated glances as Ms. Bustier arrived just as the bell rang, signalling the start of class. 

“Class, I have great news. Someone in the class dropped off tickets to the Clara Nightingale concert happening tonight—” Ms. Bustier had started to say when the class broke into excited chatters. 

“How much do you want to bet that Lila claims to be the one to drop off the tickets?” Marinette muttered, glaring at the girl in question. 

Felix shook his head. “Not taking the bet. Why fight a losing battle?” 

“Who could’ve sent the tickets to our class?” Sabrina asked, looking happy as she looked around the class, trying to figure out the mystery. 

Kim rolled his eyes. “Who cares? We have the tickets and we’re going to the concert— ow!” 

Alix had smacked him on the back of his head. “You gotta learn how to show your gratitude, man!” 

“Yeah dude, not cool,” Nino said, looking at Kim with disapproval as Kim looked chastened.

“Wow, whoever it is, it was nice of them to give the tickets to the class. It’s going to be my second concert after Jagged Stone!” Adrien said, his eyes shining with excitement as they flickered to the back of the class where Marinette was sitting. 

His bright smile dimmed as he saw her and Felix speaking in whispers to each other, envying their closeness. 

Lila, unhappy with the lack of attention she was getting, coughed. When everyone turned to her, she spoke in a shy voice, “I was actually the one who dropped off the tickets to Ms. Bustier.” 

Ms. Bustier blinked. She looked over to Marinette sitting at the back, who only shook her head. 

“Girl, why didn’t you say so then?” Alya asked, smiling as she linked elbows with Lila. 

Sabrina had stars in her eyes as she said, “Thank you, Lila!”

Lila soaked up all the attention as the class thanked her, no one paying attention to the two students at the back. 

Felix eyed the girl sitting beside him with a considerate look. “You were the one who dropped off the tickets.” It wasn’t a question and they both knew it. “They are taking advantage of your kindness. You don’t even get the recognition you deserve for your acts of kindness. Instead, the credit gets claimed by a lying snake.”

Marinette shrugged. “Clara Nightingale gave me the tickets specifically for the class. What else was I supposed to do with the 15 tickets?”

“Have you thought of selling them?” He said in a patronizing tone, making her faux glare at him. 

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right to. Besides, I don’t mind giving the tickets to the class.”

“They don’t deserve it,” He murmured, sending glares at their classmates who were surrounding Lila, Ms. Bustier having given up on trying to teach for today. 

Marinette smiled, it warmed her heart how Felix was always quick to defend her. “Anyway, enough about that.”

Felix watched with a curious gaze as she took out a lanyard pass from her purse. 

“A backstage pass, for you. Clara gave me three of them, including one for me. I’m going to give the other one to Chloe when I see her tonight as she’s currently not in class,” she said, placing the lanyard on their shared desk with a light clink and pushing it toward him. 

“Thank you,” He said, his lips quirking up into a slight smile and she took it as a win. 

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April 10th, 2023— Le Grand Paris, Paris, France.

Arriving at Le Grand Paris with Felix in his limo, Marinette sighed in relief when she didn’t see any signs of the paparazzi. After her accidental tweet on her MDC Twitter account from earlier, the paparazzi were sure to be on the lookout for her tonight. 

“Paparazzi are not allowed anywhere near the property of Le Grand Paris, remember?” Felix spoke as the limo came to a stop. 

Marinette still didn’t let her guard down, eyeing the entrance with a cautious look. “That didn’t stop Vincent Aza from stalking Jagged Stone, did it? There’s always a few people who think they can get away with the rule,” 

She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, lost in thought. What if someone discovers she was MDC because she arrived with Felix? The world knows Felix and MDC are dating— even though they’re not— and everyone knows Felix is not the type of person to get close to just anyone. After her slip-up from earlier on social media, her arrival with Felix is a big giveaway. 

A light touch on her arm broke her out of her daze and she turned to see Felix looking at her with a frown, his eyes holding concern as he reassured her, “No paparazzi would be foolish enough to step foot onto Le Grand Paris after what happened last time with Vincent Aza. He was sued by both Jagged Stone and André Bourgeois.” 

When she still looked convinced, he added, “I am sure Miss Bourgeois took proper precautions and security has been doubled, especially with tonight’s event.”

Marinette gave a slow nod, taking a deep breath. 

Felix nodded at the chauffeur out the window, who promptly opened the door. As the door slid open, Felix stepped out, eyeing the guards at the hotel entrance and the area around it. He then extended his hand, assisting Marinette out of the limo. 

The two showed their backstage passes to the guards standing at the entrance and they were granted entry. 

Chloe greeted them as they crossed the threshold. “There you are, Dupain-Cheng, you’ve made it. You as well, Graham Cracker.” 

Marinette huffed out a laugh at Felix’s annoyed look at the nickname. 

“How many times do I have to tell you to refrain from using that name?” he said, scowling at the Bourgeois heiress. 

Chloe went to link arms with Marinette, then responded, “Your last name is too long. You can’t seriously think I’ll call you Graham de Vanily every time I have to address you?”

Felix sent her a flat look. “Graham de Vanily is too long, but Graham Cracker is not?”

As the trio made their way to the ballroom, Marinette took out a backstage pass by the lanyard from her purse and handed it to Chloe. “Not that you need it since you technically helped host the concert, but it would avoid misunderstandings,” 

Chloe smiled, taking it. “Thank you, Mari.”

The three flashed their passes to the man standing guard and he unlocked the red velvet rope for them to enter. The ballroom was spacious, with a bar at the side serving drinks and a large stage at the far end of the room. Groups of guests were already gathered around, speaking to each other in loud excited voices. 

At their entrance, heads were turned and many were staring at Felix. Being the famous actor he was, he was recognized in an instant. Marinette shifted on her feet, feeling self-conscious as their gazes drifted to her and the chatters grew louder. 

“They’re only antsy because it’s a high-profile celebrity making an entrance. It would soon die down when the concert starts. After all, they’re all here for Clara Nightingale,” Chloe said to her, grabbing her hand in comfort.

Marinette nodded, her gaze flickering to Felix who had a blank look on his face as he appraised the crowd. Without her permission, her eyes had wandered away from his face to appreciate the rest of his outfit. 

She blushed when he caught her eye and a nudge from Chloe had Marinette dragging her gaze away from Felix’s. 

“Let’s go backstage, it’s way too crowded and I feel stuffy,” Chloe muttered and Marinette murmured her agreement. 

Marinette looked to Felix who was already looking at her. “Come along, Graham Cracker.”

Ignoring his look of disbelief and betrayal, she followed Chloe to the front where the stage was. The trio had walked passed their classmates when Lila’s faux sweet voice crooned at them. “Oh, Marinette!” 

Marinette exchanged eye rolls with her two friends before she turned to Lila with a fake smile that could rival the Italian’s. 

Alya went to link arms with Marinette, pushing Chloe out of the way, who glared at the spectacled girl. “Hey, girl! Are you excited for the concert? It’s all thanks to Lila that we all get to enjoy it,” 

“Yes. It’s all because of Lila that we get to attend Clara Nightingale’s concert,” Marinette said, her voice sarcastic but Alya didn’t seem to have noticed. 

Marinette removed her arm from Alya’s and was on her way to go backstage with her real friends when Lila’s voice stopped them again. “Where are you going, Marinette? Shouldn’t we enjoy the concert together as a class? After all, I got the tickets so our class can spend time together!” 

Marinette gritted her teeth. Lila was not going to leave her alone. “I have a backstage pass.”

Lila’s eyes widened as the class exchanged excited glances. 

“Wow, girl! Since when did you and Clara Nightingale become besties? You would have to be quite close if you managed to have a backstage pass,” Alya asked, looking happy for Marinette. 

“So cool,” Juleka mumbled as Rose looked at the ravenette in admiration.

Alix beamed. “That’s awesome! I wished I had a backstage pass,” 

“I was wondering where my backstage pass went. Turns out, you’ve had it all along,” Lila said, her eyes gleaming with greed as she looked at the pass around Marinette’s neck. 

Alya frowned at the implication before her eyes cleared. “I see what’s going on. Thanks for being such a great friend to Lila! But Lila’s here now, you can return the backstage pass to her,” 

Marinette narrowed her eyes at Lila. “Ms. Bustier personally handed out the tickets to everyone. We all saw she handed you one. If you had a backstage pass, you wouldn’t have needed a ticket.” 

“You’re the one with the backstage pass right now. I was confused when Ms. Bustier handed me a ticket when I knew I was supposed to have a backstage pass. I didn’t want to bother anyone at the time because I thought maybe Clara just forgot that she had promised me she would give me a backstage pass,” Lila said, her eyes widening with tears as she ‘figured’ out what had happened. 

The happy smiles on her classmates' faces melted away as they processed what Lila had said. 

“I have a backstage pass as well. By your logic, does that mean I also stole your backstage pass?” Felix intervened, glaring at Lila. 

Chloe waved her pass in the air in front of her. “And me.”

Lila’s eyes widened even more if possible while the class wavered with uncertainty. 

“Well…” Max had started to say when Lila sniffled. 

“I’m sorry, it’s my lying disease acting up again,” Lila cried as the class gathered around her, offering their comfort and sympathies. 

“Pathetic,” Felix muttered, taking Marinette by the arm as they headed backstage. 

Showing their backstage passes when prompted, the trio was granted entry and they spotted Clara Nightingale being interviewed by Nadja Chamack. 

“Marinette! You made it!” Clara went to hug Marinette, then murmured a greeting to Chloe before turning her attention to Felix. “You are the famous Felix Graham de Vanily! I love your work in The Vengeance, your portrayal of Octavius Valdez captured your essence.” 

Felix nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you, I am flattered.” 

Nadja Chamack seemed surprised at the interaction, but her surprised gaze was on Marinette. “Marinette, it’s good to see you again! Manon misses you.” 

“It’s good to see you as well, Aunt Nadja. How have you been? Tell Manon I said hi,” Marinette said, accompanied by a warm smile. 

“Of course! I’ve never been better. I was just asking Clara Nightingale here some questions for my news report,” Nadja said, looking at Clara with a smile. “What’s your relationship with Marinette? You two must be close if you gave her a backstage pass.”

Marinette tensed but kept on a bright smile as Nadja looked at her for a reaction. Nadja Chamack might be a family friend, but Marinette couldn’t know for sure if Aunt Nadja would report her identity if she knew. Especially if Nadja sees the news as newsworthy and MDC’s identity is bound to create a buzz in the public. 

Marinette wasn’t willing to risk it. 

Clara swung her arm around Marinette’s shoulder, silently assuring her that MDC’s identity wouldn’t be exposed. “Ever since I thought Marinette would make a great Ladybug for my Ladybug and Cat Noir music video, we’ve been close ever since.”

Marinette nodded in confirmation, subtly squeezing Clara’s hand in thanks for her quick thinking. 

Nadja nodded, moving to jot down the explanation in her notepad when Marinette spoke up, looking nervous as she chewed on her lip. “Do you mind not including that question in the article you’re writing? I would like to stay out of the spotlight. After what happened the last time when the media caught me with Adrien, I don’t want a repeat of what happened,”

The reporter looked up, her face softening at the nervous look Marinette was sporting. “Of course, I understand.”

Marinette nodded, looking relieved. “That’s good.”

Clara smiled, rubbing Marinette’s shoulder in comfort as she suggested, “Why don’t you go hang out with your friends for now? I’ll come talk to you again before the concert starts.”

“Okay,” Marinette agreed, Clara gave her a gentle push towards her friends who had taken a seat on the couches as they lounged. 

“I was scared for you for a second, good thing for Clara’s quick thinking,” Chloe whispered to her friend as Nadja continued to interview Clara, their voices carrying over to the lounging area. 

Felix looked up from his book, adding his own two cents in a quiet voice, “You have to be more careful which accounts you are posting on, Marinette. I only hope Ms. Chamack does not put two and two together and figure out your identity as MDC from your earlier tweet.”

Marinette nodded, taking his advice to heart. She would make sure to double, triple and even quadruple-check to make sure she posts on the right account from now on. It had been a close call. 

The trio settled into quiet conversations and bantering during the intermission of the concert. It was going to be a fun night. 

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Trending

1 • Trending Worldwide #CherryVenom 4.1M Tweets

2 • Trending Worldwide #ClaraNightingale 2.5M Tweets

3 • Trending Worldwide #ThatAccidentalMDCTweet 2.1M Tweets

4 • Trending in Paris #ClaraNightingaleConcert 1.8M Tweets

5 • Trending in Paris #ClaraNightingaleConcertMDC 1.2M Tweets

What’s Happening

news • 58 minutes ago Clara Nightingale Concert At Le Grand Paris

news • 1 hour ago Felix Graham de Vanily Spotted At Le Grand Paris For Clara Nightingale’s Concert

news • 3 hours ago Theories & Conspiracies: MDC’s Identity

news • 5 hours ago MDC Accidentally Tweeted She’s Going To Be At Clara Nightingale’s Concert

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The Clara Nightingale Concert At Le Grand Paris Nadja Chamack

Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! Tonight, Clara Nightingale shook the world with the concert held at Le Grand Paris in honour of her latest album, Cherry Venom. Parisians and people from all over the world who hadn’t attended the concert had to live vicariously through clips and footage of the concert posted on social media. 

Cherry Venom is Nightingale’s most successful album up to date, garnering over 1 million plays on Spotify since its release and hitting the top of the Billboard charts within a month. 

[Source: Promotional shots and concept photos from Clara Nightingale’s Instagram]

I had the honour of interviewing Nightingale for my news report article tonight before she went on stage to perform. The most outstanding question was: What are you wearing?

It comes as no surprise when Nightingale said “The outfit I’m wearing is designed by MDC”. The renowned MDC, the fashion designer taking the world by storm could rival Gabriel Agreste and the Style Queen, Aubrey Bourgeois herself. 

The beautiful dress Nightingale had worn in her concept and promotional shots were designed by MDC as well. 

In answer to my question, “Is MDC your go-to designer when you require a dress or outfit for your music videos or concerts?” 

Nightingale responded, “I would like to say MDC is my personal designer, but Jagged Stone would fight tooth and nail for that title. I could only say MDC and I are very close friends, I often go to her when I need something designed. Her works have never once disappointed me.” 

Readers may be wondering if MDC and Nightingale are as close as Nightingale says, does that mean Nightingale knows MDC’s identity? Well, Nightingale’s answer will certainly shock some readers:

“Yes, I do know MDC’s identity. I won’t disclose her identity because it’s not my place to. MDC is someone who doesn’t like to be in the spotlight and we all know how vicious the paparazzi and the media can be. It’s also one of the reasons why MDC doesn’t take commission requests from just anyone.” Nightingale said. 

The reason for MDC remaining as an anonymous designer explained by Nightingale is understandable. With that said Nightingale and Stone are the only known ones so far to know of MDC’s identity. 

[Source: Photos taken from the concert, posted on Clara Nightingale’s Instagram]

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[traumadumpwriter]

Heavy trigger warning: Blood, violence, gore. Mentions of self harm, sexual assault and rape.

Check out the other chapters by going on the Freedom tag on my page!

Sorry for the slow updates. I’m much more regular on my Wattpad and already have a lot more chapters uploaded there. The @ is slowlychanging .

Don’t forget to like and comment if you’re enjoying! It really does mean a lot. Stay safe xx

Freedom: A John Shelby mini fic

Chapter Ten: 4199 words

The intense car ride home reminded John far too much of that first car ride with Alice - after he and Arthur had seen her in the middle of the road that fateful night - and it made his stomach turn as he was once again plagued by questions that were all likely to have bad answers.

He was careful to keep the blanket wrapped tightly around her, holding her close to his chest and looking down at the high cheekbones and plump lips of her blood splattered face with an uncomfortable feeling of desperation. Sweat dripped from his face onto hers - but he daren't move his hand to wipe it - unable to bring himself to unwrap his arms from the tight position they were in around her, like he was holding pieces of shattered porcelain together.

Once they were back at his, John wasted no time cleaning things up - quickly checking between her passed out body on the sofa and the boiling water as he prepared a bath. He wasn't too sure of where all the blood had come from; it certainly wasn't all Ergin's and that was worrying him deeply. He moved fast but careful.

Gently, he placed her in the steel tub and watched the red rise to the surface, clotting and creating ink like patterns in the water. His hand swished away all those patterns swiftly though, delicately patting her from head to toe with a flannel until all of the blood was gone from her skin.

In most other situations her naked body would've excited him. But as he lifted her from the tub and carried her to his bed, he felt as if he were handling a delicate antique doll, terrified to crack the china skin. Her injuries were now clear and the water had even opened some of them up, creating more small trickles of blood although not enough for John to panic. His previous fear subsided as he realised the blood was from shallow cuts, littered amongst the hundreds of scars she already had from her neck down to her toes.

That confused him. "Did they make her do this? Or did she do this to herself somehow?" They weren't there that morning and she'd been busy all day, so the first option seemed more likely.

He couldn't imagine ever wanting a woman to hurt herself for his own pleasure but he'd heard of some sick minded men enjoying it - maybe the Turks were in that category of men. His jaw clenched at the thought. Maybe that's how Tommy knew Ergin would like her.

Then, he naturally ran his eyes along the rest of her body; some bruises already starting to form - particularly the finger shaped ones around her neck. That made him painfully grimace.

He could only look at her for a second longer before quickly pulling a clean blanket over the sleeping body and then pacing towards the front door, his anger reaching new heights as he imagined whatever had happened to Alice in those twenty five horror filled minutes spent inside the enemy territory.

With flared nostrils and shaking hands, he pulled on his coat and stormed out the house, instantly lighting a cigarette as he strode towards Watery lane. After only a couple seconds of walking he heard a familiar set of heels stepping towards him and soon Aunt Pol appeared out of the fog, strutting with a concerned expression.

"Is she alright John? What happened?" She asked worriedly, but could guess the answer after seeing his furrowed brow and clenched fists.

He simply shot the woman a glare before continuing his march, determined to get to his brothers and give them the nastiest fight he'd ever given them. Pol of course let out a huff before turning around and following him, having to walk faster to keep up with his wide stepped pace.

"She's alive isn't she?" Her voice had an unintentional amount of panic in it.

"Only just."

"Well if it's only just what the fuck are you doing out here and not with her? See to your brother tomorrow." The tone had lost its previous softness as she snapped at her nephew.

"It ain't just Tommy, it's you and Arthur too. All three of you fucking put her up to this." John hissed, his eyes staying focused on the pavement ahead.

"Oh please! Like you're not the one completely desperate to see that bloody bastard husband of hers dead. The Turks are gone and now it's only time until he comes to us-"

"What's the point him being dead if she ain't alive?" He stopped his pace and turned to his aunt dramatically. "Huh? I can't marry a dead woman! Can I!... She's fucking lucky she made it outta there alive and she certainly ain't fucking unscathed as Tommy fucking put it!" With an angry scoff he chucked his cigarette to the ground. "And you know what! After tonight I don't give a fuck about her being married already! Fuck that bastard, I'm gonna marry her! She ain't his and she never was - dead or alive - she's mine! And ain't no one, not you, not Tommy, not anyone is gonna take her from me! You got that?"

His eyes were wide and his breathing heavy - never having been angry enough at his aunt to rant at her so aggressively before. Usually he would keep his mouth shut and step into line, but something about Alice was making that submissive part of him disappear - at least for anyone who wasn't her - and he felt as if he could fight the whole world if it meant his girl would be okay.

Polly didn't tut or raise her hand at his outburst as she usually would at the slightest infraction though, staying calm as she looked at her nephew and only felt pity. The proposal was something she'd seen coming a mile off, but the pain he was feeling as a result of tonight - it was palpable. From his steely, reddening eyes to his raised but ragged voice; the young man was desperately in love. Desperately in love with a woman even more damaged than himself.

"Oh how awful love can be." Polly thought, letting out a sigh before adopting a more gentle tone again. There wasn't any satisfying answer to his outburst and so much like he did to her, she replied with another initial question of her own.

"Why have you left her on her own then? You and I both know that's a bad idea-"

"She's out cold." Again, John cut Pol off icily but could gradually feel himself calming down as he looked into his aunts comforting, knowledgeable face. If she was calm, then things had to be okay - that was the way he'd always known although he struggled to feel it in that moment. "So I can't even ask her what happened but she were covered in blood, fucking naked n only half awake when I found her so I'm sure you can fucking guess!"

Polly felt her heart drop to her stomach, a wave of nauseous guilt overtaking her. She should've expected it but she didn't, having faith in her nephews plan and even in the merciless violence that Clara's nightmare daughter seemed to have been capable of.

"And it don't even matter that the Turks are fucking dead. Because they still hurt her. I'd rather them be alive so I could fucking do to them what they done to her." His voice still frothed with anger but was considerably quieter now, sounding more tired and depressed than amped and violent as it was previously.

"Perhaps it wasn't as bad as John thought though. Maybe she did just dance as Tommy had said she would. Perhaps, Alice had been able to kill them before they had the chance to really hurt her." Polly tried to have herself believe as she attempted to soothe her heartbroken nephew.

"She's a tough girl and I'm sure she'll have Tommy herself when she wakes up." One corner of John's lip nearly twitched upwards at that image but was quickly anchored down before it actually had the chance to rise.

"She'll be fine, John." Pol continued, placing a hand on his shoulder before starting her walk back to the family home. "But you should be with her now. Tomorrow will come soon enough."

And with that she was gone back into the fog, stepping with less speed than before now that she knew Alice was alive and at least semi-okay.

It was news that Arthur waited impatiently to hear, unable to see his brother himself after hearing about the bloodstained car ride from Isaiah. He knew exactly how angry John would be and couldn't blame him one bit for whatever violence he was sure to want to inflict on him. But that wasn't the thing that stressed him most - he'd grown a genuine soft spot for the extra ordinary woman and was now terrified that he'd played a role in another traumatic experience or at the worst, her untimely death.

Sure, he knew the Turks sadistic reputation - but he also knew Alice's and now, like Pol, realised that he had possibly placed too much faith in it. After all, she wouldn't have been able to torture David without the assistance of the brothers - in fact if they hadn't been there he probably would've had his way with her. Why hadn't he even considered that fact until now? Why did he have to just trust that Tommy's plan would go completely perfect?

Stressed, he ran his hands through his hair and looked up at the clock - each second dragging agonisingly as he waited for his aunts return. As soon as the door opened and her dark locks were visible, he rose from his seat and opened his mouth but Polly beat him to the punch.

"She's out cold as your brother put it - you won't be getting any real answers until tomorrow. But alive at least."

Arthur nodded silently, relief flooding him although you wouldn't be able to tell from his stoic expression.

"I've never seen him like this before, Arthur. He was on his way to whack you and Tommy until I stopped him... He's completely in love with that girl. He'll never forgive us for this."

Meanwhile a few streets away, John's face was as unreadable as his brothers but instead of being relieved, he felt sick. He carefully carried Alice up the stairs and into his bed - her body still heavy and limp as she showed no signs of waking soon. The blanket remained draped around her and soon she was tucked under another one - an attempt at providing the most comfort and warmth possible without actually wrapping himself around her.

She didn't stir even slightly throughout the night, remaining stiff to point where John would check her breathing occasionally - unable to sleep until the early hours himself. And when he did finally fall asleep, he was plagued with nightmares; his usual ones of war but now they cruelly had Alice intertwined into them too.

It was around eight that the woman finally awoke, instantly groaning from the pain across her body before her eyes even opened. She could smell John and feel the soft texture of his bed against her bare skin, something she peacefully soaked in for a second before the memories of the night before came crashing into view and she became acutely aware of her unwilling nudity - along with the sore injuries she seemed to be covered in.

Panicked, she sat up straight - instantly gasping and falling back down as she felt a shooting pain in her ribs. John shot up at the slight noise and quickly turned towards her, feeling as if he hadn't slept at all and was immediately alert.

Seeing her deep brown eyes open again, although they were full of fear, lifted a weight from his shoulders that he didn't even realise was there and he was quick to try to soothe her.

"Hey, hey it's okay-" he went in for a hug but she sharply flinched away, panicked breaths and tearful eyes making her look as vulnerable as a shot lamb.

"It hurts.. my ribs. I think they're broken." She gasped, looking down at her body and letting out an even more scared pant before looking up at John.

"I, I didn't want to get nude. Please don't think I'm a whore. I, I should have listened to you. I'm sorry." Her voice was a weak stammer and tears started to brew at her waterline as John quickly jumped out of the bed and raced to stand by her side - his speed unintentionally making her jump in fright.

Before she could panic any more though, he bent down and placed a long kiss on her forehead, holding her bruised face with one hand whilst the other interlocked with her shaking fingers.

"It's alright. You're okay. I'm with you. No one is ever gonna hurt you or have their bloody way with you again. I swear on it." He cooed, instantly relaxing her slightly. "And Tommy is gonna pay for sending you in there, I promise."

The silence that followed accompanied by John's gentle touch felt like heaven compared to the traumatic night before. She was safe now.

It gave Alice a real moment to collect her thoughts and calm herself down, the tears that were brewing quickly evaporating. She pondered on his words, how much it clearly worried him that she might've had sex with the Turks, and that was something she had to set straight before it could fester on his or her mind any longer. She didn't want him to think of her even more dirty than she already was.

"They didn't have their way, John. I wasn't raped. In fact, you arrived just in time." Her voice was still quivering, although considerably less than before. His touch seemed to have almost numbed her, a nonchalant energy to the R word as her body realised that she was now safe and no longer had to panic.

It was a word that some women wouldn't dare to utter, but Alice was so desensitised to it that it rolled off her tongue like any other word would. John decided not to think on that though, gently stroking her bruised cheekbone and placing another kiss on her forehead before he spoke again, a small relieved smile on his lips but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He didn't know whether to believe her or not - clearly so scared of being judged as some sort of whore although he could never see her that way.

"If I had been a few minutes later?" He asked quietly, trying to coax the full truth from her swollen lips.

"Then I imagine he would have had me." She replied plainly, no more shakiness or fear in her voice. The blunt tone was all he needed to know there was no lie, in fact it was her familiar blunt tone of brutal honesty - the words that came from it usually leaving a trail of hurt upon whoever received them. "But he didn't. You were there in time. So there is nothing to dwell on."

Another moment of silence passed, his hands remaining in their delicate positions before he slowly pulled them away and stepped backwards from the bed, getting a full look at her bruised neck and feeling that rage from last night kick in again.

"I'm assuming everything else went well? The Turks are no longer a problem?" She continued, not even acknowledging John's visible change in mood.

"Burnt to the ground." He spoke lowly.

"Good."

There was now an awkwardness in the air as John clearly wanted to say so many things but didn't know how to. Alice could guess what he was thinking anyway.

"I'm still going to punch your brother in his fucking face. I thought I was gonna die when Ergin was... and Tommy told me I'd be fine." Her voice was losing its confidence again as she thought of the fear she'd felt and she had to cut herself off to stop the shake from coming back. The anger in John's eyes was already blistering - he didn't need to hear how scared she'd really been.

He knew anyway, thinking back on the tales she'd told of Jones and how much it must've felt like being with him. He could never let that happen to her again. So, with a heavy exhale, he looked to his feet and then up again before speaking.

"I'm gonna drive you to the hospital, get those ribs sorted. We'll pick up Ada on the way to keep you company, I doubt you'll be there very long anyway." He instructed, moving across the room to get dressed as Alice lay with an irritated scowl.

She knew he was right but god she resented being told what to do - even by John.

"And what am I to do in the hospital? What about Tommy? I want to give him a piece of my mind." She moaned.

"You're to lay still, recover and stay safe." He replied before making his way back over to the bed with a small pile of clean clothes to pick from. "Don't you worry about Tommy, he's gonna get a piece of my, and probably even Pol's mind once I get my hands on him."

Alice sifted through the clothes, letting out an involuntary painful hiss as she moved out of the bed to get dressed.

The damage done to her body was clearer in the morning light illuminating the small room: dark bruises and vicious cuts. She looked even worse than John had realised in the dimness of the night before. He thought about the beautiful white dress she'd confidently galavanted in less than twenty four hours ago; how regal she looked even with a gun in her hand, how angelic she seemed. Now she didn't look much better than the men he'd seen at war.

Alice noticed his bewildered expression as she weakly pulled on a white shirt - the most comfortable from the pile - and found herself racking her brain for some words of comfort. She knew she looked bad and she knew John was worried but there was nothing to be worried about - atleast in her mind - she'd made it out alive, relatively unviolated and the blinders had won the battle.

Why did he care so much about her injuries? His intense gaze paired with the furrowed brows were starting to make her feel ugly.

"Stop looking at me like that, John. I'm fine." Her voice almost sounded angry, it probably would've come out a lot more intensely if she weren't so tired.

"Look at you like what?" He scoffed, watching her pull on a grey pair of trousers with an obvious attempt to keep a straight, unpained face.

"Like you're so... I don't know." She struggled to find the exact words as a pounding headache started to kick in. "Scared, or worried, or maybe even sad? Like I said, I'm fine and there's nothing to dwell on."

John scoffed at her again, louder this time and with more irritation. He looked to the floor with a tut before regaining the previous intense eye contact.

"You shouldn't be fine. You ain't fine! You should be upset, like you were just five minutes ago. But you go numb.. you go empty. It's like you don't even give a shit about yourself.. about what could've happened."

"What. Upset that a man could've forced his dick in me for the millionth fucking time? Or actually, finally killed me? La dee fucking da John! It didn't happen, so it don't matter. And even if it did why would it make a difference at this point? I'm already damaged goods, we both know that. So why do you care?"

The mood had drastically changed from the comfort of each others company to extreme irritation within a couple of seconds. Mood swings were a common part of being around Alice, yet John still found himself occasionally shocked by the intensity of them. Especially in this circumstance.

"Because I fucking love you, Alice! Jesus fucking Christ! What is actually wrong with you?" He raised his voice "You're actually fucked if you really think like that! Why don't you give a single fuck about yourself? Why aren't you angry?" A lash of agony laced his tone, every word she'd spoke landing like a knife into his chest.

"You think I'm not angry?" She scoffed this time, much more venomously than him. "I'm more angry than you could ever fucking know. I was kept prisoner for five years, John. I just learnt to hold it in."

"Well you don't have to hold it in anymore." He was desperate to quell her mood, to bring out her vulnerability again as atleast it meant she was human. But her defences stayed up and her expression mimicked one of a savage tiger, hissing and ready to pounce.

"Oh yes I do. Trust me. If I didn't, I'd never get to leave that hospital. I think you know that. Now let's fucking go and get it over with, Ada doesn't need to come, I can be left alone."

~~~~~

No more words were exchanged between the unofficial couple until they reached the hospital, both stubbornly side eyeing each other during the drive, secretly hoping the other would initiate the talk.

John didn't know what to say and Alice felt embarrassed to speak. Embarrassed that she'd panicked that morning, embarrassed that she'd then been rude and even more embarrassed that she'd even gotten hurt last night - having felt so certain of herself previously. All of these things made her weak - at least in her mind - and so she awkwardly kept her eyes to the ground as she struggled out of the car, holding in a pain filled groan.

Despite her attempts at hiding the breathlessness the forced silence was causing her, the observant man was instantly at her side, offering a hand by holding out his but still saying nothing.

With a defeated sigh, Alice intertwined her fingers with his and looked up into his eyes for a second before averting her gaze back to the floor. His sympathetic gaze could only be withstood for that long before she felt embarrassed again.

"I'm sorry." She sighed with an uncomfortable swallow of pride; not used to feeling so weak.

It surprised John as he was just getting ready to break the silence himself, unable to bear it any longer after a peak at her depressed expression. There was a lot he wanted to say in response, conflicting answers followed by questions, but they were both so tired that he decided against it.

"It's alright." He simply responded, a wooden pick balanced between his teeth. "Let's get this over with."

As they ascended the great stone steps to the lobby, Alice found herself needing to lean into John far more than she wanted to, once again feeling weak and embarrassed, unable to even keep eye contact with the receptionist as John demanded an immediate and private consultation - a big emphasis on those words only added to by the wad of cash gripped in his free hand.

God her cheeks were red by time she was being sat into a wheelchair, watching John whisper something to one of the nurses before they were quite ready to whisk her away. It wasn't hard to guess what he was saying, considering that Ada hadn't been picked up.

"Make sure she's not left alone."

So ashamed she could've cried on the spot and starting to completely disassociate, his face suddenly inches from hers made her jump as it took a second to register. She wasn't used to getting looked at with pity - it was usually the opposite - "or atleast it used to be" was all she could bitterly think.

"I'll go get Ada now." John's tone was still flat, struggling to maintain a calm composure himself. He tried to keep Alice's eyes on his with a deep stare, but once hers hit her lap they were seemingly anchored there; along with the corners of her mouth.

"You told the nurse not to leave me alone, didn't you?" What would usually come out as an intimidating sneer came out in a quiet sigh.

"Can you blame me?" His hand moved to stroke her arm but he stopped himself, swallowing and pausing for a moment before stepping away as he felt his emotions starting to badly brew again.

He didn't want to leave her, not even for an hour, in fact it was the last thing he really wanted to do. But the anger was becoming too much and he needed to let it out before he threw any of it at Alice - even if she was the cause of some.

So with a short, deep breath, he said "I'll see you later" in a tone so empty it shocked Alice for once, a friendly nurse wheeling her away but her words sounding like nothing as the woman's difficult thoughts reached max volume.

[cannibal-nightmares]

Kaleidos: In Birdsong

Stein is house-ridden due to teetering psychosis. Spirit stops by to check on him.

A preview chapter to a bigger project that will follow after an even bigger project. Honestly pretty much just a drabble and exploration of sorts. what started as a vent piece turned into its whole AU turned into a one-shot. kind of.

Soul Eater - Stein x Spirit (SFW) // hurt+comfort, angst, unreality, actually schizospec author; more tags on AO3 Word count - 4,525 -- [AO3 link] -- [soul resonance]

The thunking at the front entrance seemed violent and incessant in its five raps, the glass panes rattling in their frames. On any normal day the great scientist would have resorted to niceties and manners of opening the door with hardly any question, but this evening was not of the usual: Donning his lab coat snug in the middle, knees to his chest, Stein hid in a shadow of his laboratory in the corner closest to the entryway, a surgical knife twitching in his left hand as his arms hugged his legs.

“Stein?” A familiar voice cut through the air beyond the wall. “Are you home?”

He couldn’t think to move. As much as he wanted to invite the visitor in, his mouth wouldn’t say the words.

“It’s Spirit, Franken. I’m just here to see how you’re doing.”

Stein stalled to think, reaching into his right pocket to retrieve a robotic mouse. He set it on the floor and bopped its head, sending it on its way to loop into the darkness and somewhere outside to greet their guest. Shortly in response, the creaky research door opened to parallel him.

“Glad to know those little guys still work.” The man entering gently amused. His countenance dropped when he looked around and was unable to immediately find the doctor hunched over a project at his desk.

Stein watched the figure close, dissecting every thread of his blazer, every crease in his skin that he could see; shadows oozed from out of place folds, tangling his body until his form no longer seemed human enough to trust. The doctor’s throat tensed and he drew in a shakier breath than he would have cared to admit to. It was enough noise for the death scythe to notice, pushing the door further closed behind him to reveal the professor sitting smally on the floor. Before their eyes met, Stein slipped the blade to the left of him and the illusion of tangling blackness started to fade away.

“What are you doing down there?” Interrogation did not cross his tone.

When he spoke, his own voice didn’t sound like it belonged to him. “You would not believe me if I told you.”

Spirit met him in a crouch. “Try me.” He said gently, but it wasn’t enough to get the doctor to crack. Franken held his eye contact until the pools of his friend’s irises swirled inward and forced him to look away to the blank wall. The blatant and unadulterated uncertainty surprised Albarn into a sad sort of shock.

“How are you, Stein?”

“You know how I don’t like rhetoricals.” He snapped a little faster than he intended.

“I can’t care for my loved ones? I’m hurt.” Spirit joked. He tsked playfully to himself and searched the professor’s face while he was turned away; he looked more than exhausted and his pupils were like pin dots.

“Your students have been asking about you.” Death scythe rested criss-cross adjacent from his partner, fishing a cigarette to his mouth and holding another out to Stein.

He hesitated before reaching out to take the dart between his fingers, but denied to have it lit after Spirit sparked his own.

“You don’t want to light it?”

“What do you tell them?”

Albarn acknowledged the shuffle of the interaction with a simple nod. “I tell them you’ve come down with something. Which, I guess, isn’t entirely dishonest.” He let the air hang for a moment so they could gather their thoughts, exhaling smoke. “Maka–you know how smart my little girl is–she sees right through that, you know.”

“You need remind she can see souls now.” Stein gestured to take Spirit’s cigarette in his free hand. “And you’ve never been a skilled liar.”

With the note, Franken took the chance to peek at his other’s soul whilst touching the darts together and inhaling to light his own. The death scythes spirit looked as it always had, still and fortified with a sort of subtle electrical ebbing that boasted of potential energy, but this time there was a slight quavering of worry. Stein was looking for fear, not anxiety, but Albarn yet again proved to unfalteringly trust his partner even in this low time.

He wondered if his own soul perception was to be believed as Spirit’s hair appeared to distort and his face misshapen.

After a drag off his cigarette and handing back the other, he evaded his eyes by rubbing between his brows with his thumb.

“It’s sweet, in a way, they’ve even made you cards–”

“Please don’t bring anything here.”

Spirit readjusted his attention. “I won’t until you’re ready for them. I know you well enough.” There must have been a tell, because his next question was almost on cue. “Respectfully, Stein, how are your… Are you…”

Stein couldn’t stifle a strained chuckle that evolved into a stressed out giggle. His hands shook as he wanted to cover his face but became too aware of the coincidental timing as if it would tell something to Spirit that wasn’t true. Eventually, he couldn’t hold it any longer, and he cranked at his screw nervously, shielding his face with his right hand allowing smoke to cast over their heads.

“Am I still hallucinating?” He choked through a broken grin. “Death scythe, you’re fucking melting.” Their eyes locked with ever-distancing contrast. The contact made him laugh earnestly, but the sheer sound of it made him annoyed, which made him laugh more. He shied his face away again into his knees in addition to the trembling fingers of his cigarette-laden hand, the other turning and turning and turning the bolt in his head, his grip turning his knuckles white.

“Stein…” Albarn reached out to take the professor’s wrist to keep him from ripping the screw out of his skull, but the air immediately around him felt like static electricity that had him take enough pause to heed the man’s next hissed warning.

“Spirit, before you even think about touching me, I need you to be aware of the scalpel next to my side.”

Albarn missed a beat and almost hoped Stein couldn’t see him break out in a cold sweat the instant he eyed the glint of metal.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m going to put it away, alright?”

Stein couldn’t respond with anything more than a choked involuntary giggle.

Why did he have this ready? Death scythe dared to wonder. He tried to subtly flick his eyes over him in the dim light whilst rolling the instrument towards himself, but he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. Slow and intentionally predictable in his movements, Spirit rose to put the knife in a desk drawer, out of sight, and returned to where he was by his partner.

“When was the last time you slept,  Stein?” He delicately slipped a hand past the doctor’s fidgeting arm to rest firmly on his shoulder. Stein was buzzing with electricity and felt warm even through his coat.

He kept his eyes strained tightly closed, listening closely to his friend’s voice with an intensity impossibly unbeknownst to Albarn. The clicking of his screw was soothing.

“What day is it now?”

“Tuesday afternoon.”

Stein looked up at the ceiling; a drag off his cigarette calmed his nerves steady for just a few seconds. “Friday night into Saturday.” He let his legs relax in front of him; Spirit’s company was doing more for him than he anticipated it could. The cog stilled, but he kept his fingers resting on it.

Death scythe nodded. 

Then he tilted his head with a sincere smile.

“Would you be up for a walk?”

“A walk? Where?”

“Anywhere. Some sunlight may do you some good.”

“I don’t know if I could face running into anyone.” Stein remarked earnestly.

“Hmm…” Albarn thought. “Let’s get you dressed in some fresh clothes and see how you feel then. If you’re still not up to it, there’s no obligation. Deal?” He took his palm away from his friend’s shoulder and held it out patiently for him to take. Franken observed it as if it could bite him.

“You sell a hard bargain,” but his tone didn’t match his shell-shocked expression.

Spirit grinned and stood half-bent, gesturing to free up Stein’s balance by offering to hold his cigarette for him, his own smoke on his lip. The scientist accepted and took his partner’s right hand in his, but they were both surprised to find that he didn’t have the preparation under his feet to get up so soon and Spirit swiftly caught him upright under the arm.

“You alright?”

Stein allowed himself to pause and stared into the dark intently. Eventually, he let himself out from Albarn’s hold and patted him on the back in some attempt of reassurance.

“Could you turn the light on?” He asked quietly as he trudged to his room. “I can’t seem to do it, myself.”

Wordlessly, Spirit complied.

Seeing the laboratory in the light shouldn’t have been more of a surprise than what the death scythe anticipated. Stein had always been a rather tidy person, but the condition of his office would have suggested otherwise; if it were any other given circumstance Albarn would have thought to help straighten things up, but knew it would, instead, spook Stein’s current state of mind if he even offered the gesture. Mugs on his desk made him consider something.

“When’s the last time you ate?” He called through the wall. With no response, he peeked his head into his partner’s room.

“Stein?”

“One thing at a time, please, Death Scythe…” Franken was faced away from the entrance towards his wardrobe and tapped his forehead to its door in tired defeat as Spirit switched on a lamp. In the light, Stein's hair was more evidently heavy from not being washed.

“Would you like some help?” The weapon had crossed the room to comfortingly touch his meister’s back, but he only gasped in reaction, jerking around in terrored surprise. What frightened Spirit was the short crackling of electricity in Stein’s flexed hands.

“Woah,” Spirit soothed, “it’s still me,” he poorly jested. “Did you want some help?” He repeated, if not to emphasize his want to assist, then to reassure the doctor that it was most definitely his voice he might have heard.

“No…” He hesitated. Stein was looking like a cornered animal; Albarn leaned back on his heel as a gesture of giving him space. “No, thank you. Sorry, Spirit…”

Death Scythe knew him well enough to realize how out of character any sort of apology was. With a nod, Spirit tried to keep it casual by stepping around and sitting on the edge of his bed, awkwardly, then, lying half of his body back resolutely, blankly looking at the ceiling and tending to his cigarette–he wanted to appear as unthreatening as possible, but it didn’t keep Stein from staring. He didn’t make a statement against it.

It took significant time before the professor was able to finally open the armoire to retrieve something to wear, but once he could look upon the selection it seemed as though each choice had a cascade of consequences behind each of them: The plush white turtleneck was the most comfortable, but it would tell his secrets to on-lookers; the dark purple thermal was practical, but it had a habit of whispering lies; a light grey button-up might be a breath of fresh air, but there was also the chance it could take over his head and have him lash out at the first pedestrian he sees and he wouldn't be able to convince anyone where the source of the idea came from because he can’t just tell people a shirt told him a stranger’s true intentions because then they’d just call him terrible and untrue things–

“Are you okay, dear?” Spirit broke through the swarm of noise, recentering Stein’s attention momentarily. How long was he thinking for? God, where did his cigarette go? It’d be so nice to fidget with right about now…

Franken took a moment to focus on his partner who was crooked with his head perked up, his back flat on the comforter and his long legs stretched out across the floor. The death scythe seemed steady in his attention in contrast to the fraying edges of his vision and this comforted him slightly. Carefully he thought about the question.

“...Could you pick something out for me? I can’t seem to allow myself to make the decision.”

“I get to dress the great meister Stein?” Albarn hummed humorously. Immediately, he wondered if his comedy wasn't a relief at all.

The two traded places, Spirit waltzing to the closet and the doctor moving out of the way, coming to rest seated at the foot of the bed. The weapon found a bit of genuine amusement cross his own face.

“You have a wider variety of clothes than I last remember.” 

Stein seemed to ignore the comment. “I’m losing my autonomy, Spirit.”

His light heartedness faltered a bit in response. “Only momentarily. It will come back to you.” Albarn turned to raise the item he chose so that the light illuminated his decision: A navy turtleneck made with heavy knitted fabric. 

“For now, you have me.” He handed over the hanger to his friend and took one last drag off of his dart, snuffing the butt out in the ashtray on top of the wardrobe.

Stein sunk all of his attention into the texture of the sweater in his hands until it melted straight through his fingers. He closed his eyes and breathed in slow and deep, reopening to the details of his loyal partner in front of him. Why was he so loyal? Why didn’t he understand that his faith wasn’t going to change the reality of things? A whisper started to seep louder.

“I can’t do it.”

“What?”

He tried to suppress the pained giggle that was attempting to distract from the anger in his chest that fought the sadness of feeling alone against the face of indescribable fear. The meister tapped his head firmly with the heel of his palm. He wanted so desperately to hit harder, but grit his teeth to refrain in his current company.

“Hey, really, we don’t have to–” Death Scythe kneeled in front of him but–

“That’s not how this is going to work, Spirit, and you know it.” Stein snapped. His eyes shot to the level of his weapon’s but couldn’t meet his gaze directly, darting his look to either side of his partner’s face. He was growing erratic and couldn’t stop it. “Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but you’re going to end up taking me the fucking infirmary under Lord Death’s order.” Franken was barely able to hear his own words and pushed and bent and twisted his hands more-than-firmly into each other, resisting the need to crank at his screw, to hit himself, to do anything. And he most certainly didn't want to find out if the urge extended to other people.

Albarn couldn’t help but admit to himself the spike of agonizing concern that suddenly stabbed into his chest like a spear. He was growing terrified in his own guidance. At this point, he wasn’t scared of Stein, but for him.

“We’re not going anywhere.” He gently cradled Stein’s elbows, his intonation conveying a small smile without changing his expression at all. “I’ve decided for us. We can stay here.”

Franken wanted time to stop as he rewound the tape and noted the uneven jaggedness of his reactions, fragments of quips looping in his mind. It was all so tiring. The cogs were slipping. The transmission was stuck. He felt like he was coasting and stalling up and down hills. He had no option but to ride the waves. When did Spirit even get here? What convinced him to listen? Somewhere, Stein decided to give in to what he had to be certain was real and he slumped forward, resting his forehead head on his partner’s shoulder, child-like with sigh. If this wasn’t it, then he’d be damned, anyways.

“Wh– Hey–” Spirit adjusted his posture to–quite inelegantly–shift him into a hug from his kneeling height. While the doctor went almost dead-weight, the weapon pulled himself in tight and rubbed his back.

“I’ve got you. Don’t you worry. I’ve got you.”

Soul resonance. It doesn’t always happen in the middle of a battle, it doesn’t always occur paired with a grand exclamation: It can happen when you land a joke with a loved one or when you share a meal, when you effortlessly collaborate with a friend on a passion project or share tears over a loss. Be it a spark or superb explosion, there are nuances of soul resonance that can’t be taught or forced, only organically experienced.

This moment burned slow like a cold flame.

Albarn felt his spirit get swept into the thrashing tide of Stein’s turmoil, and it was his instinct of panic that he had to choke down for their shared sake. Under the water did the waves turn to shrieking television static, incomprehensible messages swirling about and past… Spirit had been here before; while the sights no longer terrified him, it was still all so disheartening. He had to remain calm in remembering that this is where his partner resided all the time, albeit at varying levels of volume. The truth was there was nothing he could do other than be there for him.

And so he waited until his meister let go of the embrace.

“Thank you, Spirit.” He said unpredictably smally.

“My pleasure, Stein.”

The exhausted professor sat up, still hunched, and let his eyes drift around the room where things were seemingly much clearer now. He eyed an inviting beam of sunlight that illuminated a patch of the bare concrete floor.

“Didn’t you say some sunlight might be good for me?”

Spirit was taken a bit back by the change of heart. “Did you change your mind?”

He nodded just once. “With you, I will take your word.”

The two took their time getting dressed and settled, Stein’s moment of pause allowed him to readjust his autopilot so he didn’t have to think about the unbearable weight that the thought of leaving his home had gained an uncertain amount of time ago. Death Scythe helped him dress in the dark blue long sleeved shirt and his most comfortable slacks; he would never be without his lab coat, of course. The sun felt bright on his skin, and the overwhelming feeling of anything at all had him hesitate at the doorstep.

“You just say the word and we’ll head back home.” Spirit reminded.

“I’m fine.” Stein insisted. He genuinely wasn’t sure of the untruth behind the claim.

A noise from behind his eyes argued differently, but Franken found himself grateful to be out. The change of scenery was stimulating. Here and there some of the details of the setting distorted confusingly, but there was enough else to look at, even if it was all the same trees and rocks and shrubs he’d seen over and over on his commutes. At some point, Spirit had started rambling about workplace shenanigans, but Franken inexplicably couldn’t ask him to stop despite the disconcerting mess his mind made with the patterns of his words. All he could do was put a hand to his partner’s shoulder, and Death Scythe knew to change the subject or take pause.

They eventually found themselves at a park on the middle-edge of Death City. Your typical park. There was a lot more noise, naturally, amongst them, some sounds of which Stein could pleasantly listen to, others felt like they had ulterior motives in the depths of birdsong. He spent so much focus jumping these hoops and hurdles of logic and absurdity that he hadn’t even noticed where their journey ended up.

“I forget you can walk on forever.” Spirit half chuffed. “I need a break.” He more-than-willingly rested on a bench, gesturing for his companion to join him if he wanted.

They found themselves sat in front of a basketball court, one that was dusted with vaguely fond memories of recovery. Almost on cue, a familiar cluster of kids bounded around the corner and, before they even touched the pavement, it seemed like they were already in the deep midst of a game of ball. Their typical octet was made a nonet with a new face.

“That’s Kaleidos, our newest meister.” Spirit caught onto Stein’s gaze. “I’ve got the feeling he’s a lot like you in his potential abilities.”

The boy in reference was significantly younger than the juniors and seniors of the group; he wore dress clothes that were out of place in the picture of playing sports, but what was quick to catch anyone’s attention was the blue evil eye pendant that clasped the top of his collar closed and reflected the brilliant blue of his own eyes. Soul Eater–one of the seniors, a boy with white hair and relaxed posture–took a moment to explain the rules of their made up game and took responsibility of splitting the players into teams. They were all quick to fall into a rhythm with one another, two clusters of souls reaching out to taunt and tease and  play with one another. Kaleidos, as a newcomer, was naturally a bit awkward at first, but his soul was astonishingly quick to calibrate with each peer he neared, even in the middle of the game.

“No, he's not like me,” Stein allowed his analytical voice to ease out, “though it’s a reasonable conclusion on the surface. He has the ability to mirror anyone–down to the fine details–leaving him with the potential to become absolutely anything he allows enough focus. I read data and adapt. He becomes.”

Spirit chewed on the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t fathom what soul perception was like, but he never knew anyone who had it to be wrong. “You can read all of that from his soul at this distance?”

“Just watch.”

Upon observation of the teen running around, each child had their own style and unique quirks. The boy with stripes in his hair wouldn’t step on the painted lines on the blacktop, one of the girls was quick to delightfully give up the ball to whoever wanted it; Kaleidos immediately followed suit. He knew to be aggressive with the blue haired boy, but to charm him with a laugh of jest, he established the girl with pigtails would follow the rules unless she sparked resonance with Soul. All from merely seconds into the game, the freshman had them all read like books.

“I’m not arguing. His performance as a student already confirms you are right. He can pair with just about anyone, but everyone he pairs with feels overtaken despite his intentions. Sound familiar?”

Stein did not show amusement on his face. He did not look up to Death Scythe when he spoke. “Among anyone we have had at the academy, he is at the most imminent risk of becoming a kishin.”

Albarn’s wavelength shifted drastically in shock of the tone change. “What? Come on, you must be kidding…”

The professor made sure a glint of light didn’t cover his eyes when he chose to make dead eye contact with his partner for the first time that day.

“He may not even have to eat souls to achieve it.” 

Spirit couldn’t look away, holding back from letting his mouth go agape–it was about all he had control to prevent–never had Stein been wrong about his readings, but was he in the state to make such conclusions? How clouded was his judgment right now, really? Surely it was time to go home–

“Papa? Professor Stein? What are you both doing here?”

Before them, a dusty-blonde haired girl stood catching her breath. Her expression shifted here and there from comfort in seeing familiar faces, distaste in specific company, but a hint of compassion for surely the sight of her teacher who had been absent for a few days now. He knew she could see his soul, which must have seemed shattered and ebbing inconsistently like a high noon light reflecting off choppy water; maybe if they were both lucky to have any semblance of reassurance, she would have also seen the soft burgundy breeze sweeping the electricity to calm. Maybe if they were unlucky, she would have seen the red start to quaver.

“Oh, hi darling,” Spirit chimed, surprised from out of his thoughts. “We were just getting some fresh air.” He stumbled on his own cadence, realizing now how distracted he was. “Are you winning?”

She gave him a scoff that read of genuine humor and half-hearted annoyance. Not much could get past her, that was for sure.

“We’ve missed your guidance in class, Professor Stein. I hope you get to feel better soon.” Maka Albarn was her name: Valedictorian with a heart of gold. Patience and forgiveness swirled within her soul more than what was warranted, occasionally.

The note caught the doctor off-guard and the feeling of gratefulness gently swept through him once more–he wanted to reply, but found himself unable to speak again. Spirit noticed the hitch in his timing and moved to take his hand comfortingly, starting to reply, himself, but Stein couldn’t seem to hear him as a high-pitched ringing pierced through the scene, putting them all mute. Stein thought he could fake through it, but the image started collapsing in on itself: He was falling, there was darkness–Maka’s face split down the middle and expanded, engulfing him and Spirit– Where was Spirit? He was right here and all of a sudden–

Stein jolted awake from the nightmare, disoriented and abysmally frantic.

“Whoa, easy! It was only a dream,” a familiar voice cooed, but Franken couldn’t yet tell where it was coming from.

“My god, Stein, you’re shaking.”

The meister huffed, trying to figure out where he was and what had happened, though it quickly appeared he had fallen asleep in an embrace with his weapon partner in a frankly rather awkward position sitting up at the foot of his bed.

“Hey, hey.” Spirit hushed. “Are you okay?”

“I–” He took a breath, looking around. His vision was clear of the grotesque shadows that were unspeakably haunting him prior. “I had a nightmare that–” He took a second and reconsidered, shaking his head conclusively and readjusting his attention. “You let me fall asleep on you like that?”

Spirit chuckled. “Stein, you hadn’t slept in three days. I wasn’t going to keep you from any second of sleep that you could get!”

Stein searched his partner’s face for any semblance of unreality, but came up short. An absurdly relieved smile cracked across his expression and he couldn’t hold back an oddly sincere laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Albarn questioned, stretching out a crick in his neck.

“I just–” He put a hand to his forehead to pair with his continued  giggling, exhausted but clearer than before.

“I know what I have to do.”