#its way past 3am here i need sleep after this much crying

[cheesus-doodles]

meme-anon here ! And I just wondering if things went as the anime went where Baji un-alives himself,Mikey beats up Kazutora,Kazutora gets arrested,etc.How would newly released kazutora react to seeing reader after 10 years?

(its 3am and i got school in 4 hours send help)

meme anon! hope you managed to get that sleep you needed friend, it’s a bit for me to say that now lmao - sorry for the silence my folks, not me trying to work on 10000 things at the same time and taking forever to do anything...

Link to Leaving You | Light of Day (Valhalla Ending AU)

Masterlist

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Guilt, shame, misery, all the emotions that Kazutora thought he had managed to overcome, thought he managed to recover from (or at least bury deep down where he can avoid dealing with them), would instantly come roaring straight back out when he finds you and Chifuyu waiting patiently for him outside prison on his release day. And on top of that, definitely a good heap of surprise - this boy definitely thought that you would have forgotten about him in the ten years that had passed, maybe even moved on with your own life and leave him behind in the shadows.

There would probably be quite a lot of convincing needed to get Kazutora to meet you if it was Chifuyu doing the talking, given he would probably just drop his gaze and try to walk away as if he didn't recognize either of you. But just a call of his name from you and an offer of a warm hug would be enough to break every last wall down, you not even flinching when he comes barreling into your arms like he always did in the past. The apologies, the tears, everything he wanted to tell you would come pouring out through hiccups and wails as you stand there and let him cry it all out into your shoulder, a gentle hum on your lips, one hand running through his hair.

Would never admit it, but this boy would have been so lonely serving his time alone in prison, refusing to try and find any buddies or join any groups, instead fighting to keep himself as isolated as possible, to punish himself for what he did. Thought that he didn't deserve to be happy.

And I think that it wasn’t like you didn’t try to come and visit him while he was in prison, because you definitely did. Losing a friend as close to you as Baji would have sent you spiraling into a dark place, but it was the knowledge that Baji wouldn’t want you to blame Kazutora that would eventually have you coming to terms with what Baji did and help you to forgive Kazutora. But every time you turned up, the guard would go and retrieve your friend for his visit, only to return empty-handed and tell you that he had refused to come out of his cell, leaving you to return home with your heart in pieces.

You never did stop trying throughout the years, visiting to the point you became friends with the guards, even asking the others to help you out to try and meet Kazutora, to tell him at the earliest possibility that you forgave him, to not be so hard on himself. But despite your effort, it would be ten years before you saw your friend again.

Now with you back in his life and by his side, gently supporting him and helping him to take it day by day, this boy starts learning to move forward in life, going about making amends to the others for what he had done. With your intervention, I would think the other Toman founders would be open to welcoming him back as a friend, or at the very least forgiving him and parting ways amicably.

You probably would have learnt of Kisaki’s involvement at some point, either through the good old vineyard, or from the rumors and small talk that delinquents freely give out even with you in earshot - they probably thought that you would have no idea what they were even talking about. Not much you could do being as uninvolved as you were, but you do try to help take care of Mikey on behalf of your friends that were not part of the new Toman gang, being the moral weight that kept him as grounded, balanced and safe from the other's influence and himself as much as you could. And it is through you that Kazutora finally gets to meet face to face with Mikey and apologize for what he has done, and though it was clear that they would never be friends again, at least Mikey would stop throwing a fit when you left to go out with Kazutora.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Happiness, I’m sorry you’ve been on hold.

Request: Could you do a one shot of Fred Weasley after the war, where he doesn’t die and actually falls in love with a muggle. And he tells her about wizards and meets his family? Thank you!

A/N: So this is now the longest thing I have ever written. My aim for this was to make it equal parts angst and equal parts fluff because I think Fred deserves all the fluff. Thank you so much for requesting this! I hope I have done it justice! Please read the warnings before reading this fic should anything trigger - you come first, not fic reading. Also, if anyone can name the TV shows I mention in this, you get a gold star! Title from Volbeat - For Evigt. I hope you all enjoy, I know it’s long!!

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of war, depression, insomnia, PTSD, swearing, food, but THERE IS SO MUCH FLUFF - SO MUCH (as well as a bit of steaminess).

Word count: 13.3k

The voices have blurred into a senseless mess; Fred can only just make out the deep timbre of adult males and the high pitched shouts of students. He doesn’t need to hear the words to know that spells are being thrown left, right, and centre.

He does his fair share of fighting; hurling jinx after jinx at any Death Eater he comes upon.

The corridor he runs down is moaning and groaning as if ready to collapse, but Fred continues, his breath coming in pants. His eyes run over the bodies of students and teachers; his heart beginning the painful mourning process then and there.

Someone shouts; he doesn’t know who.

Something creaks; he doesn’t know what.

A brilliant flash of light bounces in front of his eyes, and he feels himself blown away just as the wall beside him starts to collapse.

Whether from shock or from injury, his vision fades to black.

Fred wakes with a start; heart racing, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream, hands gripping the bedsheets in a vice-tight hold.

With his eyes closed, he takes a deep breath before he begins to go through his exercise. An exercise he repeats nightly.

Aloud he says their names like a mantra: “Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Ginny.”

He does this over and over again until his heart rate calms, and his hands can release the bedsheets.

Fred checks the clock; 3am. He nods, sighing. Three hours sleep.

Fred supposes he should be thankful. After all, it’s three hours more than he got the night before.

He leaves his bed, dragging his feet to the kitchen where with a flick of his wand, the kettle begins to boil, and teabag drops itself into his favourite mug – his only mug.

The Second Wizard War had been over for almost a year now, and for the most part, life had returned to normal. Routines were picked back up and time had simply started to move on.

But Fred felt stuck.

He couldn’t shake the nightmares; keeping the house up with his screams. He couldn’t face opening the shop up despite George’s best attempts at pleading.

He didn’t have it in him to laugh.

He felt broken; as if something vital within him snapped in two the day he avoided the winged clutches of death.

Settling on the couch with his now steeping mug of tea, Fred resigns himself to the fact that he won’t be getting anymore sleep tonight.

The TV plays lowly in the background, a rerun of an old British sitcom set in a prison playing. Fred pays it little to no attention; instead, looking around the small flat he’s called home for the last eight months of his life. The walls are sparsely decorated; a few photos hung up but nothing that screams his personality. His cupboards remain filled just enough for one person, as does his fridge. It’s a flat fit for a hermit; Fred thinks that’s what he’s become.

He decided to leave home two months after the end of the war. When he started to notice the dark circles underneath his mother’s eyes and realised that he was the cause of them – his nightmares and his screams.

Molly cried when he left; worried sick over how he would look after himself and cope. Fred reassured her and made a promise to send letters twice a week – a promise he has yet to break.

George was understandably angry with his twin’s decision, but he knew that deep down that Fred needed to go to heal so he can laugh in the shop once again.

With a tight hug from his parents and siblings alike, Fred began his new life in muggle society.

A frantic knock at his door has Fred spilling his tea and falling out of his reminiscing. Jumping up from the couch, his hand grabs his wand, ready to defend himself should he need to.

His breath comes in quick pants as a result of the adrenaline and panic coursing through his system. The only people who know where he lives are his family with the added bonus of Harry, Hermione and Lee Jordan; no-one else had his address.

The frantic knocking continues; becoming quicker if it was at all possible. Fred swallows past the lump in his throat as he unlocks his door, wrenching it open in a swift movement, ready to confront whatever was on the other side.

Fred wasn’t prepared for it to be you.

You stand in front of his flat with a wild look on your face; equal parts terror and panic. Your hand is still raised in a fist, ready to rain down on the faded red of his door. You only just stop yourself from pounding your fist into his chest.

“Can I help you?” Fred greets.

“I’m so sorry, I know how late it is, but I need your help.”

Fred raises an eyebrow, “What with?”

You toe his welcome mat sheepishly, pointing towards your flat next door to his. “There’s a massive spider in my bathroom and I’m too scared to kill it myself.”

“You’re knocking down my door at this time in the morning for a spider?” Fred asks incredulously.

You glare at him, “This isn’t just any spider, okay? It’s massive; I can practically see its kneecaps!” You huff, placing your hands on your hips, “Will you please help me?”

Fred leans against the doorframe, a smirk gracing his lips, “What’s in it for me?”

You purse your lips; eyes glancing between the red-headed man vexing you and the door to your flat where you know the spider is waiting to make a mockery of you. You sigh, deciding the former is the lesser evil than the latter, “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“You’ll buy me breakfast for killing a spider?”

You nod rapidly, “Yes, I’ll buy you breakfast, and I’ll even fork out extra for hash browns, just please kill the spider.”

Fred pauses; pretending to think it over in order to annoy you that little bit more. It had been a while since he had taken the time to vex someone; he had to admit he was rather enjoying getting on your nerves.

“Well?” You press, tapping your foot on his welcome mat, “Will you help me or not?”

Fred pushes himself off the doorframe, keeping his wand concealed in his shirt sleeve. He bows at the waist with a cocky smile on his lips, “Lead the way, my lady.”

You roll your eyes at the man; not remembering a time when a man had gotten on your nerves to this extent. You lead him into your flat; his eyes wandering over the heavily decorated walls and the over-filled bookshelves. You pause outside the door to your bathroom, biting your lip as you face the red-haired man, “I last saw it in the sink. It could have moved now.”

Fred nods, “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Do you have a boot or something I could use?”

You turn away from him, heading back to the entryway where he saw piles upon piles of shoes. “I don’t have a boot,” you start, “but I do have a pair of trainers.”

“They’ll work,” Fred reassures, taking them from your hands.

You throw him a thumbs-up before retreating a few paces into your living room. You haul yourself onto the couch, much to Fred’s amusement, as if the spider is going to come running out of the bathroom to exact its revenge on you for throwing your pot of face cream at it before you sprinted out of your flat.

“Good luck,” You state as Fred opens the door to your bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Fred runs his eyes around your bathroom, looking for the eight-legged arachnid that’s caused this much trouble at this time in the morning. He finds it in no time; still stuck in your sink, unable to make its way up the smooth porcelain sides.

It doesn’t take Fred long to dispose of the spider; trapping it with a spell and flinging it out of the window. For extra measure, and to not alert you to his magic, he slams the trainer down on the tiled floor of your bathroom. Fred even goes so far as to scrunch up some tissue in his hand to make it look as if he had gotten the spider.

If he can avoid it, Fred won’t kill another living creature. In the short span of his life, Fred had seen too much death, and he knows he doesn’t want to be witness to anymore.

Upon opening the door, Fred finds you stood in the exact same place but with a rolled up magazine in your hand. He wants to laugh at the sight, but he can’t dredge up the will to do so. Instead, he holds up the scrunched up tissue and your trainer, declaring, “It’s gone. I got rid of it.”

You jump down from the couch, pottering over to him. The rolled up magazine still in your hand, “It’s in there?”

Fred nods, a little white lie won’t hurt you and he doubts the spider would return. “Do you have somewhere I can put this?” he asks, waving the tissue around.

“Of course, the kitchen is over here.” You lead him to the small kitchenette where he disposes of the empty tissue. You take your trainer off him and Fred claps his hands together as if he’s completed a job well done.

“Right,” He starts, “If you don’t need me for anything else…”

Your eyes widen as if suddenly aware what time it is and how long you’ve kept him, “Of course!” you cry, “I didn’t realise the time, you’ll want to be getting back to sleep. Thank you for all your help…” you trail off, realising you don’t know his name.

“Fred. My name is Fred.”

“Fred,” You smile, “I’m (Y/N).”

“I’m glad I could help, (Y/N),” Fred says, making his way to your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.”

You frown, “Breakfast?”

“You owe me? For killing the spider, remember?”

You hold your hand to your forehead, “Yes! I remember. How does meeting at half past nine sound? I want to get some sleep before I meet you again.”

“Half nine it is. I’ll see you then.” Fred says as goodbye, shutting your front door behind him and making his way back to the couch that had been calling his name since he left it.

The TV has moved on now; showing another rerun of an old sitcom – this one about two brothers hustling their way through life in a borough of London. Fred rather likes this show, having gotten hooked his first month in muggle life. He turns the volume up, taking a sip of his now cold tea.

Fred tries to pay attention to scene currently playing; the brother’s elderly uncle unscrewing the fastenings to a very expensive chandelier they’ve been hired to clean. Little do they know they’ve got their wires crossed and disaster is about to strike.

Fred pays little attention to this, but rather than return to the wallowing he found himself in earlier, he lets himself think of breakfast tomorrow.

His eyes begin to flutter shut; the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. He slumps down onto the couch, reaching for the blanket he keeps draped across the back of it for this very reason, and he throws it across himself. He takes one last look at the television to see that the brothers had been underneath the wrong chandelier their elderly uncle was loosening, and he falls asleep with the thought of breakfast running through his mind.

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

Fred is ready too early; he knows he is.

He also thinks he’s overdressed but he doesn’t let himself think too much into that issue.

Another nightmare had awoken him an hour after he fell back asleep in front of the TV. Fred wasn’t too resigned though; four hours sleep in one night was the most he had gotten in a while. He was going to count this as a win.

For a while, he remained on the couch, flicking through the channels hoping to find something other than telly shopping. He skipped over the news channels, not needing to hear anything about muggle society that could potentially send him further into his spiral. He ran a hand over his face as he turned off the TV; he had moved away from home to start getting better; to start the healing process yet he felt as if he was only making things worse.

Before he could let himself dwell further on that subject, he hauled himself into the shower. Taking extra time to scrub at his hair and body; making himself look presentable for breakfast with you.

Fred took extra care in picking out his clothes. Once dressed, he did feel overdressed for the occasion, but as he sits on the couch, watching the hands on his analogue clock tick by slowly, he’s more bothered by the fact that he’s ready over an hour early.

He sighs as he watches the second hand make another circuit around the clock; one less minute to go, he thinks wryly to himself.

If his mother could see him now, Molly Weasley would proceed to smack him with a tea-towel before offering her advice on the matter. Thoughts of his mother has Fred overwhelmed with a strong sense of missing her. He misses his mother more than he misses anyone; how she would always have food on the table and tea ready to drink, how she would push back his hair from his forehead so she could kiss him there. She would do that a lot when the nightmares were very bad; she would sit with him on the couch where he had exiled himself after waking George up too many times – she would run her hands through his hair in a comforting manner, kissing his forehead as his eyes would start to droop. Molly would only let herself rest once her beloved son was sleeping somewhat peacefully.

Fred thinks of this memory as he digs around his flat for some spare parchment and a self-inking quill. He had already sent his two letters for the week, but Molly would be delighted to receive a third unexpectedly.

Quill scratches on parchment for some time. Fred inquires after the wellness of his siblings – did Charlie pull his finger out and ask out Evie? How was Ron and Hermione? How was Dad? Would he like any more of the muggle sweets he’s become so fond of?

Fred asks the inane questions before asking about George. Fred knows that George loves him; they’re twins, they’re closer than any other sibling would hope to be. George knew Fred’s moods like the back of his hand and he only wants the best for his brother. Which is why Fred struggles with the guilt at leaving George to cope with the joke shop alone. George has reassured him that it’s okay, that he needs to take time and the shop will always be here when he’s ready to come back.

But it still doesn’t lessen the guilt that sits in his stomach like a lead balloon.

Black ink covers his hand by the he’s finished his letter; finishing his letter with the news of breakfast with someone he could see being a good friend. That would be enough to quash his mother’s worries that he doesn’t leave his flat enough. He seals the envelope with wax, making a mental note to go to a wizarding post office after breakfast so he can send it off in express time to his mother.

Cracking his knuckles – a nasty habit he picked up at Hogwarts – Fred checks the time to see that it’s almost half past nine. He slips on his denim jacket, tucking his letter into an inside pocket, patting it to reassure himself it’s there.

As he’s locking up the door, he sees you exiting your flat. Fred realises that when you aren’t dressed in mismatched pyjamas with a terrified look on your face, you’re rather beautiful.

You hurry over to him; your bag bouncing against your hip as you come to a stop in front of him. “Good Morning,” you greet.

“Good Morning. How did you sleep? Any more spiders?”

You direct your gaze to the floor, feeling somewhat sheepish in the light of day, “I know I said it last night, but thank you again. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if you hadn’t have got it.”

Fred smiles softly, “I didn’t mind. Besides, I get breakfast out of it.”

You perk up, “That you do! Off we go then.”

You lead him out of the building, continuing on the main road before turning left and then a right. Fred follows you all the way; making small attempts at idle conversation which you gladly take up, chatting to him about anything and everything as you lead him down a side street to where a small café sits.

The bell above the door chimes happily as you enter the building, holding the door open for Fred to duck in first.

You lead him to a table by the window that’s big enough for two. He pulls out your chair for you, letting you sit first before shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. Fred may have been a little shit through his childhood and adolescence, but he had listened to his mother when she explained the etiquette for dining with a lady whether it be breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Menus are handed to the both of you by a waitress who looks to be wanting to be anywhere but here right now. Fred sympathises with her a little; remembering the early starts for the shop. They order their food in no time; you ordering a latte and Fred ordering a Yorkshire Tea to go with your Full English’s with extra hash browns.

You grin at him from across the table, “Thanks for agreeing to this.”

“Thanks for offering.”

“Did you get back to sleep okay after I woke you up?” You asks, face lined with worry.

Fred nods, clearing his throat, “I nodded back off, yeah.”

You sigh with relief, “That’s good, I’m glad.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“I slept very well in my spider-free flat, yes.”

You fall silent as your drinks are placed in front of you with a promise that your food would be with you shortly. Fred smiles at the waitress in thanks as she leaves.

He turns his attention back to you, “How long have you lived in the building? I’m sure I would have seen you before.”

You wave a hand nonchalantly, “Not very long, I moved in a couple of months ago. How long have you lived there?”

Fred sips at his tea, adding a dash of sugar and milk before answering, “Around eight months now.”

You nod at his answer, taking a drink of your latte. The caffeine was needed; the adrenaline from the spider incident had taken a while to leave your body, leaving you tossing and turning in your bed and providing you more opportunity to think about the red-headed neighbour you had just met.

“I’m going to propose an idea.”

“Oh?”

“I say we play twenty-one questions and get to know each other.”

“Get to know each other?”

You blink at him, “Yes. We’re neighbours and we’re having breakfast. What else should we talk about? The weather?”

Fred glances out the window at your words, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Well the weather is particularly lovely for London.”

You hush him, “That’s not very neighbourly of you.”

“Perhaps I’m not very neighbourly,” Fred taunts.

You gasp dramatically, “I refuse to believe that. If you weren’t neighbourly, you would have shut the door in my face last night.”

Fred raises an eyebrow, “Would you have started to knock again if I did?”

You purse your lips, repressing a smile, “Maybe.”

“Then I simply helped to lessen the noise.”

You scoff, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“You don’t have to.”

You glare at him, “Fred, stop being an arsehole and let me get to know you.”

Fred barks out a laugh, covering his mouth at the volume of the noise, “Well, when you put it like that. What do you want to know?”

You beam at him, and Fred can’t help but smile back. “How old are you?” you ask.

“I’m 22.”

“Are you at university?”

Fred shakes his head, “I thought I was supposed to ask the next question.”

You level him with a look, “Answer this one and then you can ask the next one.”

“Alright, but you can’t go jumping in with another question before I’ve asked mine. No, I’m not at university,” You open your mouth to interrupt but close it when you remember Fred’s words. He smiles at you, “How old are you?”

“You can’t repeat questions!”

“Why not?” Fred asks, affronted, “It’s only fair I know your age too!”

“Fine,” you mutter, “I’m 22 as well. 23 in a month.”

Fred nods, waiting patiently for your next question. You open your mouth, the words ready on the tip of your tongue but the waitress returns with your breakfast. The very smell of it has Fred’s stomach rumbling; he hadn’t a cooked breakfast like this since he left the Burrow. He digs in with renewed vigour; repressing a moan at the taste of the fried bread.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

Fred nods, unable to reply due to the mouthful of food he’s chewing.

You nod in understanding, swallowing your mouthful before saying, “I found this place in my final year of university; I needed somewhere that reminded me of my mum’s breakfasts. Her breakfasts will always be number one, but this comes pretty close.”

Fred pauses with a forkful of scrambled egg halfway to his mouth, “That’s what I miss most about home – my mum and her cooking.”

“Are you not from London originally?” You asks around a mouthful of bacon.

Fred shakes his head, “Devon originally. A tiny village in the county; it’s more of a hamlet really.”

Your eyes widen; eyebrows flying into your hairline, “Devon? That’s a while away. How often do you get to see your family?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” Fred says, drinking his tea.

For a moment, it’s silent between the two of you. The scraping of cutlery on plates being the only sound. Fred thinks of his family as he eats his breakfast; wondering what their plans are for the day – whether they’d be gnome hunting or playing quidditch or simply helping Molly with her vegetable garden. His heart hurts as he thinks of them; overcome with the absence of them from his life. It makes him shiver as he reaches for another drink of tea.

Fred breaks the comfortable silence, “What about you? Where are you from originally?”

“Lancashire originally but I moved to the south when I was young – it’s why my accent is so odd.”

Fred frown; he hadn’t noticed anything odd about your accent, thinking the way that you pronounced your vowels was similar to the way young Neville Longbottom does his, but yours are cut shorter.

“Tell me,” He starts, “Do you see your family as often as you’d like?”

“You’re going to repeat my every question, aren’t you?”

Fred grins, “Maybe… Maybe not. You’ll have to stick around to find out. Now, do you see your family as often as you’d like?”

You shake your head, “Not really. My parents like to travel a lot; a cruise here, a two week holiday there, a road trip across America through the summer. I don’t blame them though; they worked hard for the time they have now. I just wish they’d drop in more.”

“Are you rich?” Fred asks before he can stop himself. He cringes as the words leave his mouth.

You chuckle at the awkward expression on his face, “I’m not. My parents are. I’m a humble student working towards their master’s degree. My father created his company in printing greeting cards; he sold it off a few years back for a lot of money and they’ve been enjoying themselves since.”

“You’re a master’s student?” Fred asks; his knowledge on muggle degrees somewhat limited to what Hermione had told him.

You nod, scraping up the last forkful of food on your plate. “Yeah, I’m getting my master’s in Library Science.”

“What do you hope to do after that?”

“Work in a library or well, continue to work in a library, I already work at my university one. I’d love to work in an archives one day though, cataloguing pieces of history.”

Fred nods, enraptured by your words. He didn’t realise how much choice there was for muggles and their education. The wizarding world was somewhat limited to how witches and wizards could harness their talents; Fred and George were practically pariahs for choosing to dedicate their lives to pranks and happiness. He had always assumed the muggle world worked in the same way, but here you were, proving him wrong.

Knives and forks are crossed on plates when you ask, “You aren’t a university student, so you must have a job. What do you do for a living, Fred?”

Fred decides a kernel of truth wouldn’t do too much harm, “I own a joke shop with my twin brother.”

You laugh, clapping your hands together, “That’s incredible! Is the shop here in London?”

Fred nods, “It is. My twin brother is running it for the time being.”

“Can we go see it?”

Fred freezes; he hadn’t anticipated this. He glances down at the watch wrapped around his wrist then back up at you, not missing the glint of mischief in your eyes. “Perhaps another time?” he suggest, “I have some errands I need to run today that I can’t avoid.”

You lean back in your chair, feeling somewhat sad but you shake it off. “Of course, but I’ll hold you to that Fred. I won’t rest until I see your shop.”

Fred grins, “I have a feeling you’ll stick to your word.”

You move to reply but are interrupted by the waitress coming by to collect your plates and ask if you want anything else. She leaves the bill behind when her question is declined. Fred reaches for his wallet, but you stop him by snatching the bill.

“I made you a promise last night. Breakfast for your excellent services.”

Fred rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “I feel bad letting you pay.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” You tease, “No, I said I would buy you breakfast so I’m buying you breakfast. You can buy it next time.”

“So there’s going to be a next time?”

You shrug, biting your lip. “Sure – you might need my services for something. A blocked pipe or a blow fuse.”

Fred stands, pulling on his denim jacket, patting his inside pocket to find that his letter is still there.

You walk back to the main road together; waving goodbye to him as you head towards your university and he to a side street where he can apparate to the nearest wizarding post office. Fred hands his letter over to the clerk, paying a few extra knuts for express delivery.

Fred takes his time walking back to his flat; enjoying the spring day that was blooming around him. He felt lighter as he walked; as if he didn’t need to put as much effort into putting one foot in front of the other. He put it down to you and your presence; there was something about you that evoked all sorts of emotions from him. There was something about you that made him want to see you again.

However, he knew by tonight, the familiar fog will have settled over him – dulling the light of everything around him. He knew that he would still struggle to sleep; being lucky enough to get even an hour in before being pulled to consciousness kicking and screaming his way out of the same nightmare.

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

His time over the next month is split three ways. He spends a third of it on his couch; watching old reruns of sitcoms – his new favourite being set in second muggle war and follows the Home Guard; Fred finds himself whistling the theme song more often than he’d like to admit. He uses his time on the couch to write his letters to Molly who was thrilled at the aspect of Fred making a friend; she wrote question after question about wanting to know their star sign to their hair colour. Fred smiles fondly; a smile reserved only for his mother – one that got even bigger when a second owl arrived with a small note with another question. Through all of her excited questioning, Molly forgot one crucial detail – what was their name?

He spends the second third of his time running. Fred had always been sporty; had always had an athletic build that helped him gain his spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a Beater with George on the team too. However, there are few places in muggle London where he can play the sport freely, so he gets it into his head to pretend to train for a match. Fred begins to run; every morning and every evening. Two runs a day, seven days a week. The runs on an evening tire out his body so he has more of a chance of falling into bed with the hopeless prayer of a dreamless sleep uttered from his lips. However, the runs on a morning are more frantic as he runs off the excess adrenaline and panic running through his system as a result of the night terror his mind unleashed upon him, dragging him from sleep less than two hours after his eyes closed.

Then Fred spends the final third of his time with you. In your flat or walking around Hyde Park or visiting your university.

Fred finds himself spending more and more time with you; he starts to crave your company. And he feels ridiculous for feeling that way because he’s only known you for over a month and he should be using this time to start the healing process.

But he’s already told his mother about you; and who isn’t to say that he can’t work on healing from the trauma of the war with you by his side being a warm, comforting presence?

Fred sits on his couch at nearing two in the morning; questioning his entire existence and reasoning for moving to muggle society when he realises that whilst it’s only been just over a month, if he wants to start healing with you by his side, he needs to be entirely honest with you.

He needs to confess.

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

Fred inhales a deep breath before knocking on your door. He shuffles from side to side, nerves rioting in his stomach. In less than a minute, you’ve wrenched open your door, smiling widely as you take in Fred standing before you.

“Freddie! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He holds his hands behind his back as he rocks back onto his heels, “Do you want to go on a walk?”

Your eyes run over his face; taking in the dark circles underneath his eyes. He had told you about his insomnia soon after the friendship began; it worried you, but Fred had reassured you that he had it controlled. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Fred nods, “That, and I really need to talk to you.”

“No problem. Let me just get my shoes on.”

Fred smiles as he watches you toe on the slip on trainers he had come to know as Vans. You told him just last week about your obsession with them; unable to resist buying a new pair each time you passed the shop.

You grab your jacket from the hook, pulling it on as you lock the door behind you, bumping into Fred as you step out into the hallway.

Fred leads you out of the building, turning the usual left that heads in the direction of the park. You struggle to keep up with his long strides; calling out for him to slow down a little so you can at least walk side by side. He smiles at you as you catch up to him; apologising for his speed, he is just anxious.

The walk to the park is walked in silence. Fred’s mind occupied with how he’s going to tell you the most important thing about himself and how you’re going to react when you find out that a lot of your friendship was built on a lie.

The park settles on the horizon too soon and his heart is in his mouth. Fred used to be a confident guy; happily getting involved in scheme after scheme that would bring chaos and laughter to the corridors of Hogwarts, but he had lost that part of him in the battle. He wondered if he would ever be that guy again.

You bump his shoulder, “We’re at the park, what did you want to talk about?”

Fred settles on a nearby bench; fiddling with his fingers, “I need to tell you something  but I’m not sure how to say it.”

“That’s fine. Why don’t you tell me why we’re in the park?”

Fred sighs, “It’s so you have the freedom and the choice to leave after I tell you what I’ve been keeping from you.”

Your heart starts to pound in your chest; panic rising slowly in your gut. “What have you been keeping from me that’s so bad that I would need to walk away from you?”

Fred turns in his spot, staring into your eyes, “Do you promise to hear me out and not interrupt?”

“Fred, you’re worrying me. What’s the matter?”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise! Now what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been lying to you… about so much.”

The air is knocked out of you, “I’m going to need more than that, Fred,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Do you remember when we first had breakfast? And I told you about the joke shop I own with my twin?”

“Yes… so what did you lie about? The joke shop or the twin?”

“Neither. I just lied about why you couldn’t see it.”

“Why?” You ask; your tone incredulous.

“Because I’m a wizard, and the joke shop I own with my twin – who is also a wizard – is a magical joke shops selling pranks and potions to witches and wizards attending Hogwarts.”

You stand from the bench, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself, wondering when the TV cameras are going to show up, “That isn’t funny, Fred.”

“I’m not joking, (Y/N). I’m not lying to you now.”

“How do I know? What’s Hogwarts? Who is your twin? What’s the name of your shop? Why aren’t you there?”

Fred had prepared himself for the barrage of questions he knew would inevitably fall from your mouth; curiosity being your besetting sin. He hadn’t prepared himself for the look of betrayal and hurt that crosses over face as you continue to stare at him. Fred feels his already broken heart break some more at the sight of it.

He runs a hand over his face, “(Y/N), love, please sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Everything?” You question, “I want to know it all.”

Fred crosses over his heart, “I promise. Now please sit down.”

You sit next to him; a few inches away as if the small distance will help to protect the heart that you had already started to give to the broken red-headed man.

You remain silent as Fred sorts out his words; you can see the cogs in his mind working as he figures out how to explain an entire society that you hadn’t known existed until less than a minute ago.

Finally he releases a breath and begins.

“Witches and wizards have always been around, but after famous witch hunts such as Salem, Pendle, and Samlesbury, we had to go into hiding to protect our numbers. From the age of eleven, we go to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is a school in the highlands of Scotland dedicated to teaching young witches and wizards the art of magic as well as how to control it. My twin is called George; we’re identical and sometimes, our own mother struggles to tell us apart,” Fred breaks off with a short laugh, thinking of Molly with fondness.

“He’s my rock, he’s my best friend. We bought the joke shop when we were eighteen – it’s called Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and it’s found in Diagon Alley. For your sake, it’s found near Charing Cross Road.”

Fred pauses once again, readying himself to explain his absence from the shop and his presence in your life. “I’m not there because I moved away. In our society, there was a dark wizard who started a war for purposes beyond me. I just know that when I was 21 I was running through the corridors of the school I used to attend fighting for my life and watching people I knew die. I almost died myself when a wall was blown apart; luckily, someone spelled me out of the way. I’ll be forever grateful to them for that.

“After the war, I couldn’t cope. I was doing more harm than good by being with my family – my insomnia stems from nightmares of the war so I left. I left them and moved here where I’ve started to heal from my experiences and where I met you after you started to bang on my door. I wanted to tell you sooner; my mother told me to in her letters, but I was enjoying my time with you, and I didn’t want to ruin what we have. It means a lot to me.”

Fred falls silent with a smile aimed at you. Your mouth hangs open from his words; unsure on whether to take them for the truth they sounded like or to question him to find the holes in his story.

But he looks so vulnerable; the smile is watery, and his eyes are lined with tears. You realise that it’s taken a lot for him to confess this to you, but that it had been weighing on his mind for some time.

You don’t say anything immediately. Instead, you draw his head to your shoulder, and he lets out the sob he’s been holding in since he started to talk about his past. You wrap your arms around him tightly; holding him together as he lets himself fall to pieces in your arms. You’re in public, and this is a scene but the both of you don’t care. You hold him to you until his sobs begin to quieten into sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” Fred murmurs, pulling away from you as he wipes his eyes.

“Never apologise for crying.”

He sniffles, “Do you believe me?”

You nod, “I do. I don’t think anyone could have made up what you just said. I don’t think there’s enough imagination in the world for it. But there’s one thing I want to know.”

Fred watches you warily, “What is it?”

You grip his hand tightly, “Are you healing, Fred? Are you coping?”

Fred’s shoulders slump as the tension leaves his body; he had tensed at your words, worried at what you might say. He stares into your eyes as he answers, “I am. I was struggling at first, but I think I’m starting to heal.”

“Can I help? How can I help?”

Fred pats your hand, “Continue doing what you’re doing, it’s enough.”

And it is. Fred finds it easier to breathe in your presence as if the weight of the world is no longer on his shoulders like he were Atlas. Instead, he finds it easier to focus on other things such as plans for the day or listening to you talk about your latest assignment. He doesn’t feel his mind drift off as much when he’s around you; which is a good thing, he thinks.

You smile at him, still holding onto his hand, “I can do that.”

You both fall into quiet; eyes now focused on the expanse of the park. Fred watches a young mother push her young son the swings, hearing his delighted laughter, whilst your eyes land on the teenage couple making out underneath a tree; you move your eyes away quickly, focusing instead, on the ducks swimming in the pond.

You break the silence, “Fred?”

He hums in answer.

“Would you cast a spell for me?” You ask tentatively, “If that’s okay!”

Fred smiles softly; letting go of your hand to reach for the dogwood wand he keeps hidden up his sleeve. With flare he hasn’t shown since opening the store, he pulls the wand out. He rolls the wand over his fingers, “Wizards can practice magic outside of school from the age of seventeen; I can show you a spell.”

“Really?” You ask, bouncing in your place.

“Are you ready?”

“Hold on, let me think for a minute… YES.” You shout, stamping your feet in the grass.

Fred grins; his eyes crinkling in the corners from the size of his smile. He checks for witnesses before holding his wand up whispering the incantation ‘Lumos’. The tip of his wand begins to glow with a pale light which in the falling darkness of the day only helps him see the beauty in your features.

You gasp at the sight of the light emanating from Fred’s wand, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. “I can’t believe it,” you sigh, “All this time I asked you to change lightbulbs and you could create light with a single word.”

“You’re not scared or freaked out?” He asks, unable to stop himself. The small voice in the back of his head needed to know whether you were going to leave him.

You shake your head, still watching the pale white light. With a single whisper of ‘Nox’, Fred turns out the light and slides his wand back into his sleeve. You turn your attention back to Fred, “I’m not scared or freaked out. I’m just in awe of you and this entire society that’s survived in secret. I feel like I’m privy to a secret organisation.”

“You’re in awe of me?” Fred asks; those being the only words he focused on in your entire sentence after confirming you weren’t scared of him.

“Absolutely. You can conjure magic, Fred! Actual magic! It’s incredible,” Your hands frame his face, keeping his eyes on you as you lean close and whisper, “You are incredible.”

He covers your hands with his; wondering when he’d become so soft. “Thank you,” he replies.

You pull away too soon; Fred’s hands dropping to his side, feeling suddenly cold at the loss of contact.

Standing from the bench, you hold your hand out for Fred to take. “Come on, magic man. It’s time we went home.”

“Magic man?” He asks, amused. He takes your offered hand, pulling himself up from the park bench.

“It’s my new nickname for you, do you like?”

“Magic man… magic man,” Fred repeats, testing the name out on his tongue, “I suppose I do.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’ll call you anything else.”

The walk back to the flat is quicker than the walk to the park. Fred’s steps lighter now than they were earlier. Chased by the turning on of street lights, you reach your building and lead him into your flat, offering him a warm drink as he takes a seat on your cream coloured couch.

Fred takes the hot mug of tea from you as you sit down next to him. He takes a shy sip, careful not to burn his tongue. It’s perfect, as it always is. You always know the right amount of sugar and milk to add.

“Thank you for telling me that today, I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

“It wasn’t, but it got easier when you didn’t walk away. I was so worried that you were going to.”

“I don’t think I’d have forgiven myself if I had.”

Teas are drank after that, and Fred whispers goodnight to you before kissing your cheek in a rare moment of tenderness. He lets himself out of your flat, making the short walk back to his where he throws himself on the couch and lets himself wonder when exactly he had started to fall in love with you.

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

Two more months follow, and Fred knows that he’s now arse over tea kettle in love you. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes, that you like to shove under legs when laid on the couch together, so he yelps at their temperature.

Two more months follow, and Fred feels like he’s maybe able to start living his life again, but in small doses. He writes to his mother more who’s delighted by the tales he tells of you and your growing relationship; he could never keep anything from Molly – her face too trusting and her manner too warm. All Molly is concerned about in her letters is whether Fred is happy, and for the first time in over a year, Fred can reply saying he thinks he could be.

Molly won’t ever tell Fred this, but she cried at that letter, feeling her heart burst with happiness for the son she had always worried about.

Time passes, and Fred spends more and more time with you. Breakfast dates, lunch dates, movie marathons on the couch – he does it all with you. You even go so far as to make him decorate his flat more; pictures of his family now line the walls as well as the picture of him and George on the opening day of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

That’s when he knows he needs to go back to Diagon Alley, and he’s taking you with him.

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

At nine am on the dot, Fred knocks on your door until you open it. You glare at the red-headed man, demanding to know his presence at your door when he only left at four am after binging the entire Godfather trilogy without realising how long the films are.

Fred beams at your state, “Go get dressed, I’ll make you some coffee.”

“Why?” You ask, puzzled.

“I’m taking you to Diagon Alley and my joke shop.”

You stagger back a couple of steps, “Really? Are you sure? Are you ready?”

Fred’s grin moulds into something softer at your concern. “I am, and I want you to come with me.”

A slow smile breaks across your face, “Give me ten minutes and we can go!”

You rush into your room; pulling open the doors to your wardrobe and raking through to find any sort of clothes you’d wear to visit a magical shop, and possibly meet the twin brother of the man you’d fallen in love with.

Minutes later, you exit your room, pulling a brush through your hair to make yourself look more presentable. Gratefully, you take the cup of coffee from Fred’s hand before rushing into your bathroom to brush your teeth and spritz yourself in your favourite perfume – jasmine, lavender and citrus.

You drain the dregs of your coffee as you leave the bathroom. Dropping the pale pink mug in the sink, you turn to find Fred leaning against your kitchen counter with an amused and entertained look on his face.

“Someone’s excited, I see.” He teases.

You pout, “It’s not every day I get to go see magical London, magic man.”

Fred claps his hands, laughing quietly. “Come on then, let’s get you to Diagon Alley.”

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

Diagon Alley is nestled behind Charing Cross Road; it’s the largest area of wizarding London and is completely hidden from the muggle world.

Fred has been visiting Diagon Alley for as long as he can remember; flooing there with his mother and Bill, Charlie and Percy to collect their things for the latest school year. As a child, he loved visiting Florean Fortescue’s when the budget permitted it; getting a single scoop cone with rainbow sprinkles.

As he enters the Leaky Cauldron, leading you in by the hand, Fred is a mix of fear and excitement making him act jittery as he approaches the familiar face of Tom, the barman.

“Fred Weasley? Is that you?” Tom asks, a large smile on his face, “I haven’t seen you in over a year! How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, Tom. How have you been?”

“Never better – you know me.”

Fred smiles, nodding. “I’m heading out back, is that okay?”

“Anything for a Weasley. Does this have something to do with the muggle hiding behind your back?”

You reveal yourself from where you’ve hidden yourself behind Fred. Keeping a tight hold on his hand, you smile shyly at the barman, “I’m (Y/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tom smiles politely, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” Tom turns his attention back to Fred, “You know what to do.”

Fred parts ways with barman he had grown up knowing, pulling you to the back door which opens into a small courtyard.

“Fred, love, it’s a dead end.”

“Are you sure?” Fred asks with a smirk, reaching for his wand. “Want to see some proper magic?”

“Always, magic man.”

He grins at the use of your nickname for him before tapping his wand on the bricks blocking your way. You cry out as the bricks begin to move; shifting to the side to reveal an entryway to a cobbled street lined with shop after shop all varying in colours.

Letting go of Fred’s hand, you take your first step into the wizarding world; already in love with every aspect of it, just as you’re in love with every aspect of the man making his way to your side.

“What do you think?” He asks, breathless at the sight of the place he hasn’t seen in a year.

“This is unlike any other place I’ve seen.” You hold your hand out for Fred to grab, “Show me around?”

“With pleasure,” Fred replies, wrapping your hand in his, tangling your fingers.

Fred takes you on a tour of the Alley; stopping outside Ollivander’s and getting out his wand to explain the importance of the place, turning his wand around to show you what he means. He tells you the story of Harry Potter; of what his wand meant, being the twin of the wand that had killed his parents. Your heart breaks for the boy you had never met; had never even heard of until today – you ask after him, how is he now? Fred reassures you; after all, he’s fine, Harry’s dating his younger sister much to Fred’s chagrin.

He takes you into Florean Fortescue’s, buying you ice cream for breakfast as any adult should have. Your eyes widen at the taste of the Butterbeer ice cream; butterscotch and buttercream icing bursting on your tongue. Fred smiles at your expression, licking his way through his own ice cream – strawberries and cream for nostalgia’s sake.

Sitting down at a small table, you tap your ice creams to each other in a toast. “Where are we going next?” You ask, catching a drip of the melting ice cream with your tongue – not missing the way Fred’s eyes track the movement.

“I thought we could visit my shop.”

“Your shop?” You ask in disbelief, “Are you sure?”

Fred nods, catching a drip on his own ice cream. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes also track the movement of his mouth. “Yes, I’m sure.” He looks away, ashamed, “I’ve left George alone too long.”

You reach for his hand across the table, “I’m sure he understands, Fred.”

“I know he does, but it doesn’t stop the guilt.”

You rub your thumb across the back of his hand in a comforting motion, “Are you sure you’re okay to go? We can always come back another day.”

“You’d come back with me?”

You grin, “Of course, this is the best ice cream I’ve ever had. I’m here for you, magic man – who else is going to kill the spiders in my bathroom?”

Fred relaxes, “You’re the best, you know that right?”

You take another lick of your ice cream, “I do know that. Do you want to stay and see your brother, or do you want to go? I’m happy with either, but you’re going to have to give me time to get more ice cream.”

Fred laughs at your words, “It is good ice cream,” he takes a lick of his, “No, let’s go. I need to see him; I need to apologise.”

“Alright then. We’ll finish here and then we’ll go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes… at last.”

He nods, remaining silent. The ice creams are finished in silence; questioning looks sent to each other across the table. Your feelings for Fred often overwhelmed you with their strength; never imagining that knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning could ever lead to something like this. In the short time you had known the man, you had fallen head over heels for him and also had your entire worldview altered by finding out about the existence of magic.

He’d quite literally turned your world upside down, and the only thing that ran through your mind through it all was: I hope he feels the same.

Soon though, faces are wiped on napkins and hands are back to hold each other’s as Fred leads you from the ice cream parlour to where the orange top hat stands out against the darkly coloured shops.

In a last minute attempt to delay the inevitable, Fred pulls you over to the pet shop. You coo over the animals; pointing to the Puffskein with questions burning on your tongue. Fred answers them all happily, delighted to delay walking into the shop and brother he’s neglected for so long.

After a few more minutes, you step away from the shop window citing the temptation being too great and you may end up smuggling the Puffskeins to the muggle world.

“That was a fantastic distraction, magic man.”

“Wasn’t it?” He admits, blushing at having been caught out but not wanting to lie to you, “It worked like a treat.”

You chuckle, “It really did. They remind me of clouds do the Puffskeins; neon, furry clouds.”

Fred snorts, “An excellent description.”

The joke shop now looms in front of the two of you; the bright orange and purple of the paintwork almost luminous in the morning light. Fred stops in the middle of the pavement; feet stuck to the floor, unable to carry him forward. He’s avoided this for so long, but he finally feels ready to insert himself back into the life of pranks, jokes, and happiness.

Your grip on his hand tightens, “I’m here, magic man. I’m not going anywhere.”

His nod is the only sign you get to know that he’s heard your words.

Taking a deep breath, Fred begins to put one foot in front of the other; a hand outstretched for the door handle to the shop, giving it a light push. The bell above the door rings, signalling his entrance into the shop but also his entrance into his old life.

The shop is quiet; it being still too early in the day to get masses and masses of shoppers. Their busy season is the three weeks in August before terms starts where students come to buy their school books but to also stock up on items of mischief.

A near identical man to Fred stands up straighter from his position behind the counter. He starts to open his mouth, to welcome the new customers to the shop but when he looks up, the words never leave his mouth.

He simply freezes in place.

His eyes flicker between the two of you quickly, before running over the man stood next to you. Looking for what, you don’t know.

In between one blink of an eye and the next, he’s thrown himself across the counter, sprinting to where Fred stands in the entryway.

No words are spoken; he just holds Fred’s face in his hands before pulling him in for a hug that’s been long overdue.

You step away from their reunion, letting your eyes roam over the shop. They need this moment alone; you don’t need to invade by watching them. You wander a little; fingers running over displays. You frown when you see you an area lit up in pink titled ‘Love Potion’.

You pick up one of the little bottles shaped like a heart; the bright pink liquid inside jostling as you examine it.

“Careful,” A voice sounds behind you, “It’s a powerful potion.”

Turning you find Fred’s twin, George watching you with inquisitive eyes. “What does it do?” You ask, fiddling with the stopper.

“It mimics the effects of love and obsession. If you smell it, you smell the person you love.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Truly?”

George nods, “Truly. We sell crates full of the stuff nearing Valentine’s Day.”

Releasing the stopper from the neck of the bottle, you take a delicate sniff. Peonies, rain, and Yorkshire tea come filtering through. The very smells you’ve become to associate with the man who had never really been your neighbour but has always been something more.

Replacing the stopper, you drop the potion into George’s waiting hand. He pockets it before turning back to face his twin.

“What did you smell?” Fred asks as you settle back next to him.

You shrug, “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

George grins at the two of you, “Is this the famous (Y/N) from your letters to mum?”

You nudge Fred with your elbow, beaming, “You write to your mum about me, magic man?”

“Hold on – magic man?” George asks, eyes glancing at both Fred and you.

You nod, “It’s my nickname for him.”

George chuckles, “It’s brilliant. I may have to use it myself.”

Fred blushes at his brother’s use of your nickname for him. He doesn’t say it, but it doesn’t sound right coming from anyone else’s mouth but yours.

“Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, (Y/N). Mum already loves you. I’m George.” George introduces, holding a hand out to you.

You shake his hand twice before dropping it, “It’s very nice to meet you too, George. Fred has told me so much.”

“He has?”

You nod, “He’s told me all about the pranks you played at Hogwarts and why you set up this shop – which I think is wonderful by the way – I feel like I already know you.”

George shifts his gaze to his twin, “I don’t know why but I didn’t think you’d talk about me.”

Fred gapes, “Of course I talk about you. You’re my twin brother, you’re practically half of me.”

George shrugs, “You only send letters to mum… I just assumed.”

Fred steps forward, placing his hands on George’s shoulders, “Mum made me promise to write, I couldn’t break that. I wanted to write to you so much, George, but the guilt I felt as just leaving you and the shop was too much and then more time passed. I’ve been an awful brother; can you forgive me?”

George laughs, tears falling freely down his face. “There’s nothing to forgive now that I know why.”

Fred hauls George into a hug; neither afraid to show their emotions through this reunion. Fred had been so worried before this; thinking his brother might turn him away at the door, but now holding him in his arms, he’s just happy to have his twin by his side once more.

They pull away with a sob; George clapping Fred on the back. “Will you be returning to work, Freddie?”

Fred’s eyes land on you; where you’ve stood silently through the whole exchange, just happy to see the two brothers reunite. His eyes search your face for something, and he finds it in your smile. “Yeah, George. I think I might do.”

George glances between you and Fred as if seeing the connection there. He keeps his mouth shut but smiles at the fact that his twin has found someone to share his life with.

You spend a couple more hours in the shop; pottering freely as Fred and George discuss the state of the business and when Fred would like to start work again. Pride runs through your veins as you listen to them from the upper floor; Fred has achieved so much in such a short space of time and you couldn’t be more prouder of him.

You also couldn’t be more in love with him. He handles himself with such grace; standing taller, smiling more. The more time you spent with him, the more you could feel yourself falling for him. Nights alone in your flat had you thinking of what it would be like to be laid in bed next to him – would he cuddle? Would he let you lay your head on his chest? Or would he prefer to spoon? You had spent so many nights thinking of these questions, trying to think of answers.

“(Y/N)?” Fred calls from the lower floor, “Are you ready to go?”

“Already?” You ask, descending the staircase.

Fred nods, “I’ll come back tomorrow and talk more to George about what I need to do. It’s time we got some lunch, however.”

Your stomach grumbles at his words, “You’ve got great timing it seems, magic man.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly, “No. I just know you too well.”

You smile at him before turning to George to say goodbye. George smiles at you, saying, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other very soon,” with a wink at Fred.

The tips of Fred’s ears burn red as he claps his twin on the shoulder, promising he’ll call in tomorrow. “Tell mum you’ve seen me, will you? I know she worries,” Fred calls on his way out.

“Already on it!” are George’s final words before the door closes.

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

Sitting at a corner table in The Leaky Cauldron, Fred continues to ride on the high from seeing his twin brother after a year apart. He’s positively ravenous; the nerves before having dampened his appetite. He takes it upon himself to order for the both you; checking that you don’t mind. You wave him away, stating that you wouldn’t even know where to begin with ordering.

Tom hands Fred your drinks after ordering, letting him know it’d be around ten minutes before food was with you. Fred thanks the barman, picking up the drinks to return you.

“I’m really proud of you, Fred.” You state, taking a sip of the sweet Butterbeer.

“You are?” He asks bashfully.

“I am. It took a lot of bravery to do what you did today.”

Fred blushes, but doesn’t drop his eyes from yours. “I think I’m going to be brave one last time.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” He states, reaching for your hand, “I’ve only known you for less than six months but in that time you’ve helped me find who I was before the war. You’ve helped me find the laughter that was missing. What I’m trying to say is, is that I’ve fallen in love with you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Fred,” You sniffle, “I love you too.”

“You do?”

You nod, “I really do. I love every last bit of you.

Fred sags in his chair; holding onto your hand tighter, “I was so worried you wouldn’t love me back.”

“No chance of that, magic man.”

The smile that breaks across his face is simply breathtaking, and you thank your lucky stars that the man you’ve fallen in love with, loves you back, just as much.

Tom fetches your food over then, settling two plates onto table. It smells divine and without letting go of Fred’s hand, you pick up your fork and dig in.

The meal is eaten in silence; happy looks and secret smiles exchanged over the steaming plates of food. Fred’s thumb rubs over the back of your hand; the motion now having another meaning alongside ‘I’m here’. Elation bubbles within you, flooding your veins. The love you feel for this man is entirely encompassing, filling your very pores, combining with your genetic makeup.

For as delicious as the meal is, the both of you barely taste it. Plates are empty in no time, and Fred leaves Tom a tip on the table. He pulls you up with him, dragging you to the door and back to muggle London.

It feels like a fever dream; stepping back into the reality you’ve known all your life until you met the red-headed man stood next to you.

Fred tugs you into him; his arm wrapping around your waist. He drops your hand in favour of caressing your cheek. His brown eyes sparkle with love and joy as he dips his head, pausing just before he touches his lips to yours, waiting for permission. You grant him in the form of pushing your mouth to his.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him in close, feeling all of him pressed against all you. He tastes of the butterscotch from the dregs of his Butterbeer and you hum against his mouth – it’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating; you could lose yourself entirely in him and you wouldn’t mind a bit. Your hand runs through his hair, tugging lightly. Your toes curl at the sound of the low moan from the back of his throat.

From the outside, this looks like a simple passionate embrace between a young couple. They don’t know how long this kiss has been in the making; how many time you’ve wondered exactly what Fred would taste like, and now you have that knowledge, it’s not something you’ll be parting with soon.

Eventually, you pull away from him, coming back to the surface for breath but Fred doesn’t let you go. He holds onto you tightly, pressing kiss after kiss to your face making you giggle at his affectionate side.

He lets you go for a single instant to pull you into the side street beside The Leaky Cauldron. He wraps you tightly into his side, savouring the feel of you lined next to him.

“This is going to make you dizzy,” is his only warning before he apparates back to your flat.

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

Though confessions have been uttered, Fred takes his time to learn your body.

Kissing you slowly; peeling your clothes off your body with the air of someone who has all the time in the world – and he does. He takes his time to memorise every inch of your body; every dip, every curve, every freckle. He commits it all to memory though the both of you know that you’ll be doing this for a very long time. He whispers words of worship into your skin; your body was a cathedral and he was going to worship at your feet.

You take your time with him; running your hand through the hair on his chest before trailing it lower, watching how the muscles in his toned stomach jump at your touch. A simple touch, and it drives him wild.

He draws you in for a kiss; flipping the both of you so you’re underneath him. He braces himself above and you spend the rest of the night, and most of the morning, learning the noises that can be evoked from a kiss in the right place.

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

It surprised Fred that it takes his mother almost a month to send him a letter demanding that she finally get to meet the person who had stolen her son’s heart.

Fred reads the letter beside you at the breakfast table; chuckling at his mother’s words over his morning cup of tea. He hands you the letter once he’s finished reading, watching your face for every emotion as well as letting his gaze drop to the small purple bruises at the base of your neck, laid there by his mouth.

You hold a hand up to your mouth, repressing the smile. “Your mother wants to meet me?”

Fred nods, “She has for a while, but I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“There’s no chance of that now, magic man, especially after last night.”

Fred blushes but beams, satisfied. “Would you like to meet them?”

You pause, tilting your head to one side as you think of how to phrase your next few sentences, “I don’t want to presume anything, but I’d like to think I’m going to be in your life for a long while. I think the earlier I meet your family, the better.”

Fred takes your hand in his, dropping a kiss to the top of it. “You aren’t presuming anything; I want you in my life for an eternity and more. But are you sure you want to meet them? I’m from a very large family, and if I know them, it’ll be partners as well.”

You lean over to press a kiss to his cheek then to peck his lips quickly, “I love the worry, but it’s okay. I want to meet them, and I want to see pictures of my magic man as a baby.”

Fred groans; he’s forgotten about the baby pictures but from the look on your face, he know he’s fighting a losing battle. He kisses you quick, “I’ll send an owl to my mum now, letting her know we’ll come tomorrow, how does that sound?”

You hum happily, “That sounds like just enough time for me to find an outfit good enough.”

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

Molly Weasley opened Fred’s letter with a shriek; rushing to reply before getting started on calling the family together. She sends her Patronus to Charlie in Romania; threatening death should he not return home for this occasion. Charlie replies within two hours by showing up on the doorstep with his girlfriend, Evie in tow.

The whole family under one roof again would be something of an event; and one Molly would not waste by having petty squabbles and nasty reminders. She lines her family up in the living room; boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands and wives and proceeds to lecture about what this means. She’s grateful it being a Friday evening so she can lecture the whole family without absentees claiming work as the excuse.

Halfway through her lecture to her family, Arthur places a soft hand on her shoulder, “Molly, dear, we’re going to be on our best behaviour.”

She whimpers, “I haven’t seen my son is so long, Arthur.”

He wraps an arm around his wife’s shoulder, knowing the toll Fred’s absence took on her. He had been the unexpected twin; but they didn’t love him any less for it. On the contrary, Molly loved him more for the fear of his siblings making him feel unwanted.

“I know, dear. But we all promise to be on our bestest behaviour, don’t we gang?”

Confirmation rings out across all six of their children and their partners. Molly levels them all with a look, “Fred is bringing his muggle girlfriend with him, and George has told me it’s serious. We aren’t going to have a problem with that are we?”

“Definitely not,” George calls out to the agreement of his siblings and siblings-in-law, “(Y/N) is a sweetheart; you’ll see the moment they both arrive.”

Molly dismisses her family; dispersing them to different rooms with different jobs to make the house presentable for Fred and (Y/N)’s visit tomorrow.

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

Tomorrow arrives quickly, and before you know it, the sun is shining through your window and the birds have begun their morning song. Fred’s arm hangs over your waist in a dead weight; you shift him gently as you make your way out of your bed and into the bathroom to begin your day.

By the time Fred wakes, you’re dressed and are brushing through your hair. With a lazy grin, he watches you get ready for the day. He’s in utter awe of how he met someone like you, but then you meet his eyes in the mirror and that awe transforms into something warmer.

He drags himself out of the warm bed desperate to feel you under his hands. He places his hands on your shoulder, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Good Morning,” He whispers, his voice still raspy with sleep, “You look beautiful.”

You hum, “Good Morning sleepy head. The kettle boiled a few minutes ago and there’s a teabag waiting in your favourite pot.”

“You’re a dream,” Fred calls out, pottering into the kitchen.

“And you’re a flatterer, magic man,” You call back; grinning when you hear his laughter.

Time flies by in a rush of breakfast, clothes, and kisses and before you know it, it’s time to apparate all the way to Devon.

“Are you ready?” Fred asks; your hand tight in his. You don’t miss the double meaning to his words.

“Take me to Devon, magic man,” is all you reply before your flat turns into a whirlpool of blended colours and you’re spat back out on the outskirts of green, green farmland.

Not letting go of your hand, Fred leads you in the direction of his childhood home. Air he hasn’t smelt in over a year wash over him, bringing with it a tidal wave of memories. Nostalgia settles within him as he glances down at you to gauge your reaction to his home.

The Burrow stands proudly in the valley between two hills. You gasp at the sheer height of it, “This is where you grew up?”

Fred nods, eyes on you, “It is. I lived here until I moved to London.”

“It’s incredible,” You whisper, taking a step forward, and then another, and then another until you break through the long grass into a clearing. A garage is situated to the left of the large house, and you can just make out the canes for a vegetable garden. You nod as if understanding every motive for the placement of everything; if you were to live somewhere like here, you’d too grow your own food.

Fred draws your attention back to him by speaking, “Through there is where we practice Quidditch; the game I told you about from Hogwarts?” He continues when he sees you nod, “Then behind there is a pond that a family of frogs live in. To the right of us is mum’s garden, it’s her pride and hoy – she excels at household charms, but she’s a wonder in the garden too.”

“Fred, this place is incredible. I already love it and I haven’t even met your family.”

Fred smiles, “You won’t need to wait very long; here’s George.”

You turn from the sight of the growing vegetables to see George making his way over to you. “Fred! (Y/N)! How are you?” he calls out.

Fred waves at his twin, leading you to him. “We’re good, Georgie. How is everyone?”

George beams at his twin and then you, “They’re beside themselves with excitement. Mum screeched when she got your letter; gave us a lecture on decorum and everything.”

Fred laughs; his heart swelling with love and fondness for the woman who had raised him with such love and care.

“What do you say, (Y/N)?” George starts, “Ready to meet the Weasley clan?”

You grin at George and then at Fred; utterly besotted by this man, “Lead the way.”

George claps his hands before turning his back on you, heading towards the open door. You follow him at a faster pace than the one you had done when walking up to the house. Eagerness settling in your stomach as you keep your eyes on the open door.

Fred keeps pace with you easily; both nerves and excitement coursing through his veins.

He hears his mother before he sees her, “Fred! My darling,” she cries, tackling him into a hug so tight Fred thinks his ribs might break. You pause next to him; Fred’s arm angled awkwardly as he hugs his mum with one arm – you move to let go of his hand so he can hug his mother properly, but his hold on you tightens.

“Hi Mum, I’ve missed you,” Fred says at the sound of her cries, “I’m home mum, and I’m starving so let’s get something to eat, shall we? I’ve missed your cooking too much.”

Molly wipes her eyes, running them over her son, “I think you have. You’re looking far too thin, darling,” Her eyes land on you; they widen for a second before she’s tackling you in a hug. She whispers, “Thank you” in your ear before saying much louder, “I’m so glad I finally get to meet you, dear. I’ve read so much about you I feel I know you already but it’s never the same thing.”

You return her hug with just as much vigour, “Thank you for having me, I love your home.”

Molly pulls away, “You’re lovely; you’re perfect for Fred, I know it. Come on in, it’s time we ate, and you can meet the rest of the family.”

Your stomach ties itself in knots as you follow Fred into his childhood home. Voices starts to shout upon the sight of Fred entering the home; he grins at them all, greeting them by name, passing out kiss after kiss on the cheek as well as hugs to his brothers.

Then it’s all silent as the crowd turns to you. Fred’s hand drops your and his arm wraps around your waist, “Everyone this is (Y/N). Please be nice, I’m rather fond as you’ve probably heard from mum and George.”

Everyone greets you as if you’ve been part of the family for years; kisses on cheeks and tight hugs as everyone introduces themselves. A dream of your since you were child was to have  a large family, and now with Fred, it seems as if that dream would finally be possible.

His arm rests on the back of your chair as the family take their seats at the table. The food is served with loudness and love; Molly taking extra care with her cooking to make sure it’s perfect for you. From your first bite, you understand what Fred was on about all those months ago. After eating Molly’s food, you would be ruined for anyone else’s.

It’s wonderful; they take you in with open arms, ignoring the fact that you’re a muggle because to them, it doesn’t matter. They aren’t bothered whether you have magic or not, just that you love Fred and make him happy.

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

After the meal, Fred watches you interact with his family; explaining to his father the purpose of your degrees and your plans for the future as Arthur sits there entirely enraptured. He watches you asking Charlie question after question about Dragons with Charlie only being too happy to answer – his girlfriend Evie chiming in every now and then with her own knowledge on the subject matter.

He watches you talk animatedly; eyed wide and hands gesturing wildly, fitting in with his family better than he could have dreamed of.

Sighing happily, Fred realises three things:

One – his family would always be there for him, no matter the issue. They’re there to help, to never hinder.

Two – he’s still healing. It will be a long time before he’s recovered from the war, and he’s accepted that.

And three – he’s moving forward with all that in tow because he’s found the love of his life and he’s finally ready to start living it.

*********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @harrypotter289​ @dreamer821​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn​ @summer-writes​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @black-lake-confessions​ @annasofiaearlobe​ 

Fred Weasley taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual

[yeoandmoon]

you are now listening to graceland too by phoebe bridgers! ( yeosang x f!reader )

fluff, burnout!yeosang, bassist!yeosang, writer!reader, childhood friends 2 lovers but also idiots 2 lovers, yeosang and reader run away, seongjoong are engaged, wooyoung + yeonjun have a band, there is only one bed, yeosang has a nose ring, it’s implied reader has a bad relationship with her mother, wc is 3.1k

NOTE: happy yeosang day! this was a doozy to write, but i hope you all enjoy it! its based off one of my favourite phoebe bridgers songs! :)

There’s a mural on the wall of the hotel lobby. It’s a warm toned painting of a forest, with a hint of a bright blue sky peeking out from the top of the trees. There’s a moose standing at the forefront of the mural, and a little fox sleeping on a rock towards the bottom, surrounded by colourful flowers and leaves.

The mural confused you, if you were being honest. The hotel you worked the night audit at was situated in the busy downtown centre of the city you lived in, and there were barely any forests for miles around the city - let alone any wildlife, like moose or foxes. Hongjoong said it was to make guests feel more ‘in touch with nature’ and to help people forget about the ‘problems of the real world’, while Yeosang claimed it was ‘just another scam in the tourist trap’.

You, on the other hand, was sure the mural was put there to torture you. You would spend nights having staring contests with the moose (which, to your surprise, you always lost), or you would spend hours on Google with Hongjoong trying to find out what species of fox the sleeping fox was (you were sure it was a cape fox, while Hongjoong swore up and down that it was a gray fox). The blue sky between the trees teased you; a reminder that most of your days were spent in the library at your university, or in this dimly lit lobby.

Sometimes, it felt like the only time you saw the sunshine was when you were with Yeosang.

Despite the occasional burnout and the lack of seeing sun most days, you didn’t mind the job. You were always more of a night person, and your classes were always later in the day so you did manage to pull in some sleep. Due to the late hours, you usually only dealt with customers in the first hour or two of your shift, and most of that was just directing confused Ubereats delivery people and pretty Tinder dates to hallways and rooms. It was the perfect job to work on your writing, and get your school work out of the way without listening to your mother cry about how you’re throwing your life away like your sister.

Plus, you could think of a hundred worse people to spend the night shift with than the nighttime valet, Hongjoong. Hongjoong often kept you occupied with his latest reforms and art projects, and stories about his fiancee, Seonghwa & their friend, Yunho (who he kept insisting you needed to go on a date with).

“Your emo boy is coming.”

Well, you could think of ninety-nine worse people to spend the night shift with than Hongjoong, who sat next to you at the check-in desk.

You scoff, “He’s not my emo boy.” You mumble, glancing at the street entrance to see Yeosang walk in with an ice coffee on hand.

Despite your words, Kang Yeosang was your person (you wouldn’t quite use the term ‘emo boy’, even if it did fit), and he had been since your family moved in next door to his family when you two were children. Although your friendship lately had been reduced to these late night meetings while you two were on break on your respective graveyard shifts (you at the hotel and Yeosang at the convenience store down the block, of course) and occasional meetings in the garden when you were both running errands for your families, you still considered Yeosang one of your dearest memories.

It was hard not too, you suppose. He had been there for many of your firsts, and was always cheering you on. Yeosang always made you feel powerful and important - like a powerful heroine, and not his bratty next door neighbor who cried on his doorstep after being dumped by her first year partner. He always made you feel wanted.

Yeosang grinned at you as he stepped into the lobby (if your heart fluttered in your chest, you ignored it). He had on a backwards dad cap, and he had recently changed his nose ring out for the gold hoop San had bought him for his birthday. You could just faintly see his birthmark peeking out from where his bleach blonde hair curled under the hat.

“Hello, Sunshine.” He greets you, setting the coffee down on your desk.

You set the pen you were holding down, “Hi Yeosang.”

Upon first glance at Yeosang, you can tell he’s buzzing about something. He’s leaning over the check-in counter and chewing on his lip while making small talk with Hongjoong about the tourist season.

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your coffee as Yeosang turns back to you, “Do you remember Wooyoung and Yeonjun?”

You nearly choke on your coffee at the mention of your other neighbor and ex-boyfriend. Wooyoung had moved onto your street a few years after you had, and quickly became apart of the little bond you and Yeosang had formed. He moved to the coast with Yeonjun, your ex, the first chance they had gotten, but Wooyoung’s family remained in the neighborhood.

“I babysat Woo’s brother the other day…” You watched your friend, “Did something happen? Mrs Jung didn’t say anything the other day.”

Yeosang grins, and it’s his scheming grin, “Their band got signed,” He tells you, “They need a new bassist, and Wooyoung showed them that video you took of me from that show last month. Their label wants me to come down; play a few shows with them, record a couple demos. See if we have chemistry, basically.”

Your eyes widen - both out of excitement and fear. You were happy and excited for Yeosang! This is the opportunity he had been wanting for years, but you were also terrified.

You were terrified in a horrible, selfish way because you knew if Yeosang left to join Wooyoung and Yeonjun, he’d never come back to you.

“That’s… That’s great, Yeo!” You manage a grin whilst trying to shove the selfish thoughts away, “When do they want you there?”

Yeosang’s smile falters, just for a moment but you still catch it, “Monday.”

“F-Five days?”

He nods, “I’m leaving Saturday morning, so I can be there Sunday afternoon.”

You can see it in his eyes; he’s terrified too.

Before you can say anything else, Yeosang leans over the check-in counter and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I have to get back to work, Sunshine.” He tells you, his voice quiet as if he’s giving you a secret, “I’ll see you later.”

He’s already halfway down the lobby when you swear and move out of your chair, you quickly call his name as you move out from behind the desk. You rush over to where he’s standing, and look up at him. He’s confused.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when you pull him into a tight hug, “I’m proud of you, Yeo.”

Yeosang wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. His chest is warm, and you’re sure you could spend hours here. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head, “I know, Sunshine.” He pulls away, his hand on your arm, “I really do have to go, though. I’m already late for work.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around your torso as you watch him leave the hotel and turn down the street to go back to the convenience store. When you turn back around, Hongjoong is watching you with an amused look on his face.

You glare at him as you walk back to the desk, “Don’t you have a fiance to call, or something?”

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

You were tired.

Friday nights were always busy, but tonight was draining and loud and you could only take so much of Miss Liu’s incessant phone calls about mundane things at 3am. All you wanted to do was go home, and fall into your bed and sleep for hours.

Hongjoong didn’t help your mood either. It was an innocent question about Yeosang, asking if you’d seen him since he visited you on his break but it pushed your mood down to a low point. You had been so busy the past few days, and if you were being honest with yourself, you had been avoiding Yeosang.

You weren’t ready to see him leave. You knew it was selfish, but you figured avoiding Yeosang was easier than admitting you didn’t want him to leave you behind. You would just simply watch his life through Instagram and consider the ‘what-ifs’ in your life.

You shouldered your tote bag after clocking out before yelling a good-bye to Hongjoong. You could see the beginning rays of morning sun hitting the other buildings in the downtown core as you stepped out the employee doors, and then you were hit by the sight of Yeosang leaning against one of the pillars.

Your eyes widen, “Yeosan-”

“Come with me.”

You stop. Your words are left in your throat, “W-Wh… Go with you? To the coast?”

Yeosang nods, “Come with me,” He steps forward, taking your hands in his, “What do you have here? A degree you don’t care about? A job you hate?”

You frown, running over his words in your head, “I-I have my mom. And… I have Hongjoong!”

He raises an eyebrow, “Y/N, Sunshine… Your mom will barely notice you’re gone, and Hongjoong can visit us.” He cupped your cheek.

You’re so busy having an internal crisis you hardly notice the usage of ‘us’. You’re considering the logistics in your head. Yeosang was right; you didn’t care about your degree, and all it would take was an email saying you quit for them to find a new front desk person. Your mom would be upset for a few weeks. She’d probably make some passive aggressive Facebook posts about you before acting like your best friend again.

“Yeosang…” You look up at him, your hand coming up to circle around his wrist.

“Your sister is there, and you could write everyday.” Yeosang adds on, “I did the math, Y/N. Between the two of us, we’d have 6 months to figure it out. 6 months, and we’ll come back here if nothing works out.”

You stay silent for a moment.

“Sunshine, I promised I’d show you the stars, didn’t I?”

You gasp at the promise. It was a silly promise he had made when you were both kids; something you’d almost forgotten about.

It hits you quickly: there’s no one else you’d rather run away with. There’s no one else you’d trust to run away with.

You look up at Yeosang, “Yes.”

He grins, “Yes?”

You nod, “Yes, Yeo. I’ll go with you.”

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

An hour. An hour was how long it took for you to turn your life upside down for Kang Yeosang.

In an hour, you had emailed your program advisor and told them you wouldn’t be returning for the next semester, and you had called your manager and told them you wouldn’t be coming in for your next shift, or any shift after that (which was promptly followed by a phone call from Hongjoong, who seemed more excited about this than you were). You had packed up most of your clothes and important belongings, and they were loaded into the back of Yeosang’s shitty car. You left a note for your mother, and before you knew it, you were sitting in the passenger’s seat of Yeosang’s car.

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

You had fallen asleep barely an hour into the car ride. 

The rolling hills and fields outside your window made your eyes feel heavier, but you tried staying awake to keep Yeosang company.

“Go to sleep, Sunshine.” He tells you, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Yeosang’s promise was all it took for you to succumb to your exhaustion.

You don't usually remember your dreams. Though today, there are flashes of a beach, and a smile that takes your breath away. There are blue skies and if you try hard enough, you can just faintly smell sea salt.

You wake up hours later, smiling. True to his word, Yeosang is still there when you wake. He’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, and tapping his fingers to the beat of the song on the radio.

Yeosang smiles when he notices you’re awake, “I talked to your mother.”

Your eyes widen, “You talked to who?”

He laughs, “You didn’t answer your phone, so she called me.”

You frown, glancing at your phone in the free cup holder. You could imagine the amount of calls and texts that were in there.

“She wasn’t very happy.” Yeosang continues, “She wants you to call her when we get there.”

You nod, “Thank you, Yeo.” You say softly, looking over at him.

Yeosang throws you a smile, “Of course.”

“Not just for talking to my mom…” You watch him, “For not leaving me behind, too. Thank you.”

Yeosang reaches over, taking your hand, “I’d never leave you behind, Sunshine. You’d have to try really hard to get rid of me.”

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

The car ride was long, and full of Yeosang’s early 2000s emo playlist & fast food. You called your sister, who was ecstatic to hear about your plans and had immediately offered you and Yeosang her beach house. She made a comment about how ‘she always knew you two would end up together’, and it made your heart flutter when you glanced at Yeosang.

Yeosang told you about Wooyoung’s band, and how excited he was to play with Wooyoung. You smiled, listening to him fondly talk about your old friends and their music.

It was getting late though, and you could see it in Yeosang’s face that he was getting tired.

“We should stop for the night.” You tell him, “You’ve been driving since 6am, Yeo.”

He huffs, “We could drive through the night.” He proposes, “We’d make it to your sister’s place in a few hours.”

You frown, “Or... We could stop for the night, shower, and then leave first thing tomorrow morning. We'll get there by noon tomorrow.”

Yeosang glances at you, going to protest. He ends up yawning instead, his nose wrinkling slightly, “Fine.” He pouts.

You laugh, reaching for your phone to google the closest hotels. There's a comfortable silence in the car, filled with the occasional beat of Yeosang’s fingers on the steering wheel. You feel at ease, even if it's just for a moment.

“There’s a motel off the next exit.” You tell him, stifling a yawn of your own.

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

Sure enough, there had been a motel off the next exit. It was small and slightly rundown, but cheap and had an available room. You waited in the car while Yeosang went into the check-in office, promising to be back in a moment.

He came back dangling a key in his hand, and a slight frown on his face as he opened the car door to let you out.

“So... There’s only one bed.” He broke the news, a blush growing up his cheeks, “It’s all they had, unless we wanted to drive another hour down the highway.”

Your eyes widen, “O-Oh.” You glance at the key, and then back up at Yeosang, “I’ll sleep on the floor, or something.”

Yeosang frowns, shaking his head, “We can share for one night, Sunshine. I think it’ll be okay.”

Which leads you to here; lying almost nose to nose with Yeosang. Your hair was soaking wet from a shower in the tiny bathroom and the small motel bed wasn’t comfortable, but you didn’t seem to mind as you took in the man in front of you. You pushed the strands of bleach blonde hair out of his face, and your fingers softly lingered on the birthmark next to his eye.

His breath stuttered, “Y/N,” He says, his voice a mere whisper, “We’re free.”

You let your hand rest against his cheek. Your eyes lingered on his lips before you caught yourself, moving your gaze back up to his eyes.

Yeosang only smiled at you. He gently held your wrist as he tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on your palm, “I’m going to kiss you now, Sunshine.”

“Yes please.”

You felt every nerve in your body light up when Yeosang kissed you.

A small part of your brain told you that this is where you’re meant to be: in Yeosang’s arms.

You felt this way the first time Yeosang had kissed you too, all the way back on that roof in 11th grade. You two had been talking about the future; about your writing and Yeosang’s music. You looked up at the hazy night sky, and you asked Yeosang if you’d ever get to see the stars.

He smiled at you, telling you that he would show them to you one day before he kissed you so sweetly.

Yeosang still kissed you sweetly. He kissed you like you held the secrets of the universe in your hand for him to take.

You pulled away, “I think I love you.”

He smiles against your lips, rubbing soft circles into your wrist, “I think I love you too, baby.”

—————-

You had this assumption that the next morning would be awkward; that you would be stuck for the next 6 months with someone you could barely look in the eye because of a late night confession.

Instead, you awoke to Yeosang kissing your head and placing a bagel & ice coffee down for you. He had quickly ushered you into the shower, before you put on a change of clothes and were quickly led out to the car between bites of your bagel. This all happened over Yeosang telling you how you only had a few hours before you reached your sister’s beach house, and he wanted to try and make good time so you could enjoy the beach today.

You giggled at his antics before settling into the passenger’s seat for the last few hours of your journey.

You sipped your ice coffee as you watched out the window. The countryside on the highway zoomed by you, and the car was full of sunlight from Yeosang’s sunroof being open. There was a Fall Out Boy song on the radio, and you felt a sense of calm brush over you as Yeosang took your hand in his.

The sunshine had never felt so nice on your skin as Yeosang pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

taglist: @vanishingboots @sunsethw4​ 

[mageofseven]

Thank you both for requesting! I was originally gonna split this up into two posts, one for a good ending and one for a bad ending, but I think I found a way to keep both within this post with how I decided to format it. However, while I was writing Satan's section, I hit the word limit for a post. I didn't even realize that was a thing 😳

Basically, that's why this ask is still gonna be separated into multiple parts, likely 3 but we'll see. I honestly didn't think I'd write this much, but this ask got me so inspired, it's crazy.

So everyone! This is gonna continue off from the pregnancy discovered in this post. If you haven't seen it yet, it's worth a read.

Below is Lucifer, Mammon, and Levi's sections.

Part 2 | Part 3

~

Lucifer:

The man thought he was prepared. He thought.

Lucifer expected all different kinds of physical ailments that he would have to help MC cope through; he didn't expect the ailments to be mental.

He noticed it start around her fourth month. Before that point, the demon was surprised at how calm things were. His Love went through the usual struggles of human pregnancy, like the morning sickness in the first trimester, but that was all. Nothing odd had happened and though he was grateful, Lucifer was also suspicious.

The start was subtle. His Love's spirits had been seeming down, despite keeping a cheerful outlook for all the weeks before this. She was happy for this child and it was infectious, easing the Avatar of Pride's worry about fatherhood and making him look forward to this child as well.

That was shattered when the low spirit had suddenly progressed into a heavy depression. MC couldn't even leave their bed most days and getting her to eat had become a challenge for the first brother.

He simply couldn't understand the sudden nose dive in mood and any questioning came up empty. MC didn't know why she felt what she felt and that scared her.

It was the end of that month when the fear really set in though.

Lucifer had a meeting with Diavolo at the castle. He had laid in bed and cuddled his girlfriend close beforehand, giving her a kiss and promising he'd be back in a couple hours.

He had only been gone for 10 minutes when he got a call from Mammon, who was freaking out. The older brother couldn't fully make out what the second brother was saying, but he heard his Love's name in jumble that was his brother's words so he hung up and rushed back home.

Discovered all six of his brothers in his room, trying to calm a panicked MC, who was screaming and crying on the floor.

The demon rushed to her side, trying to calm her down and figure out just what was happening. His Love clung to him and he could feel the her heart beating as if it meant to break free from her chest and the man felt powerless.

Luckily, it only took about a minute of being in his arms for the woman to stop screaming. She cried in his arms for a while and slowly, her heart beat settled.

Lucifer was so confused. What happened and why? The man shooed his brothers out of the room before carrying his Love back to the bed.

Discovers that after he left, an uneasiness set in that quickly turned into blind panic. The woman didn't even notice the brothers or hear any of their attempts to calm her.

To say that the demon was concerned would be an understatement. He had to convene with Diavolo at once for a new reason.

The man laid with his girlfriend till she fell asleep, exhausted from her previous panic.

Lucifer called his friend and apologized for his absence before explaining the situation. Lord Diavolo, now concerned as well, decided to come to House of Lamentation instead.

The two discussed the issue in his study. The lord listened to his friend's predicament before explaining that this was likely a side affect of MC's angel heritage.

Right now, their baby was trying to form its soul along with its body and the demon child needs dark energies to do so. The woman's body is trying to absorb this dark energy for the child, but her repressed angel spirit is trying to repel it all, causing her own body and soul to fight. Her brain is the battle ground.

The reason it triggered in his absence is likely a psychological thing. Lucifer himself, as all demons do, radiate the very dark spiritual energy his child needs so, despite her soul's rejection, her great trust in her boyfriend gives her feelings of safety and has her mind lend support to her body to absorb the energy the baby needs.

To sum it up, his presence is the only thing keeping his girlfriend and child alive right now.

At this news, the man changes up everything about his schedule to stay near MC. He does all his paperwork at the desk in his room instead of in his study, he stops attending RAD the few days a week he still was at that time, made his meetings with Diavolo limited to only the most important work issues and always take place within his study at House of Lamentation. Sometimes he did have to leave her side, like for said meeting or simply because he had to grab food or use the restroom.

During those times, he'd call one of his brothers in to watch her. The demon had discovered that though her trust in them was not as great as it was in him, that trust still provided somewhat of a psychological cushion for her.

However, though their presence prevented full blown panic, it wasn't enough stop her from crying incessantly.

Most of his brothers could not handle her tears so it was usually Beel or Satan that accompanied her during these times.

It was hard for all of the men to watch, Lucifer included. He couldn't help blaming himself, knowing his carelessness had gotten her into this situation. Still, he had to keep it together for her sake.

The months went by and her belly grew. Lucifer missed that excitement he felt in the beginning of all of it when MC glowed with positivity. Now, unlike the times he was smiling and rubbing her belly as the two cuddled and discussed baby names, the emotionally exhausted demon saw it nothing more than a visual timer, reminding him that this will all be over soon.

Good Ending:

After a long nine months of his Love's mental and emotional suffering, the time finally came. It was late at night, around 3am when his Love awoke with labor pains. Lucifer was already awake and at his desk doing paperwork. He immediately called the doctor that Lord Diavolo had recommended for them before approaching his love and trying to calm her. This was it. It will all be over soon and his human will finally be happy once again.

Five and half hours later, the couple was greeted by a beautiful baby girl. The small baby had her mother's hair, her father's red eyes, and a bit surprisingly, her father's black wings. MC cried as she stared down at her daughter; her tears were accompanied by a smile though. A smile. That was enough for Lucifer, who started to tear up at the scene.

"You did so well, Love." He leaned down and kissed his girlfriend's head, staring down at the baby, now drinking from her mama's chest. "I'm so proud of you."

All the days before this were tortuous for the couple, as well as the rest of the House of Lamentation, but finally some happiness was lighting up the household.

The two end up naming their daughter Ksenia.

Bad End:

The demon sighed. He was at his desk, going through paperwork while his Love slept in bed behind him. It was 1am and though that never used to be such a late time for him, these last few months had him exhausted him. His worry and care for his girlfriend took up most of his energy these past few months. MC was already entering her eighth month of pregnancy. The two were just so close to putting this all behind them and being happy. So close.

Lucifer gave a huff and laid his pen down on the desk. His concentration was waning regardless of how much he fought it. He glanced over his shoulder at MC, watching her sleep peacefully. That's the only way she finds peace anymore, by shutting off her mind and losing consciousness. Every waking moment for her is a heavy one and moments she even perceives that she might be alone causes her heart to race in her chest... all she's knows anymore is that pain and sadness yet she pushes on for the sake of their child.

Lucifer stood up and approached the bed, staring down at his Love with a guilty heart. He leaned down and kissed her forehead as he laid his hand on her round belly. There were so many moments during all of this that... he cursed his child for doing this to her. Never aloud, just within the confines of his heart. It was always followed by a reminder that the fault is his own though, not his child's. Their child didn't make any decision nor was it actively trying to hurt their mother. No, this child exists because of him and MC, because of his choices and carelessness. None of the blame truly falls on his child; it falls on himself.

He gave her belly a gentle stroke, a silent apology to the child he felt that he had wronged. Already, he felt that he was making his previous words ring true; he's a terrible father to his child. The night that MC told him she was pregnant, he confessed this fear to her.

"I should have been better. Now what's stopping me from making the same mistakes with our child?"

"Me." She answered, without missing a beat. "Lucifer, you're not alone anymore. This... we can do this together."

He still remembers those words and they roll through his head every time the fear of fatherhood decides to rear its ugly head within his mind. No matter how scared he is on the inside, no matter what happens now, he cannot let himself be engulfed by it all. No. MC needs him now and he refuses to break for her sake.

The demon steps away from the bed and heads towards the door. He shouldn't leave her, he knew that, but sometimes he just had to. It was maddening, confining himself to his room for months on end. Occasionally, and only when his Love is asleep, he allows himself to step away from the room and head downstairs to his office.

Here he sat at his desk, pulling a bottle of demonus from his drawer. It would probably look bad to anyone finding him drinking alone in his office at a time like this, but the man was stressed and he only gave himself the luxury of doing so every two weeks or so.

The man lost track of time while he was down there and before he knew it, the sun was rising. Lucifer sighed before hiding the bottle back in his desk and went back upstairs to join his girlfriend in bed.

Instead, he found her lying on the wooden floor. He raced up, calling her name and pulling her into his arms to better check her.... she was cold. The demon's eyes widened as he checked for a pulse. None... no pulse, no breath...his Love was gone.

Later, he finds out what happened from Barbatos, who checked into the past for him. His Love awoke in a panic after a nightmare to find herself all alone. The usual panic from that compounded with the fear from the nightmare and it was too much for her heart, causing her to have a heart attack. No one heard her because her last moments were filled with her desperately trying to mute herself because she didn't want him or his brothers to hear and burden them with herself once more.

Lucifer was completely torn about this. In the space of a couple hours, he lost both his girlfriend and his daughter (Barbatos told him) because he left his room at the worst opportunity and because he didn't know she felt that way. The emotionally exhausted man never knew she saw herself as a burden. It never occurred to him that she could actually have believed such a ridiculous thing. But he should have. He should have spoke out more. As many times as he told he loved her, as many times as he told her everything would be okay, he never told her specifically that it was okay to lean on him because he didn't know that she needed to hear that.

And now they're gone. And now Lucifer has to live with feeling like he was both a bad father and a bad boyfriend.

Mammon:

It all started off pretty simple in theory: morning sickness

MC's morning sickness was strong and unfortunately, didn't just happen in the mornings.

The two had to skip a lot of school days at RAD. Lucifer allowed this, but had a hell of a time negotiating with their teachers, especially Mammon's, so they aren't penalized too much for this.

MC really couldn't eat breakfast. Or lunch for that matter. If she tried, she'd end up puking it up before even finishing the meal.

She could eat dinner, but it had to be something pretty light for her stomach.

It became so much more complicated as the pregnancy progressed.

Morning sickness usually ended during the first trimester, but it never actually stopped for MC. In fact, the farther she got into her pregnancy, the less her body could keep down.

This freaked Mammon out and he kept running to Lucifer, asking if there's something, anything he can do to help this.

For a while, all he could do was comfort his weakened human... but it was hard.

During her sixth month, it was hard to even look at MC some days because, despite being pregnant and her belly sticking out, the woman had actually lost weight since becoming pregnant; other than her growing belly, she was all skin and bones. Her legs, arms, even her face, all boney and sunken. She started to look as if the life was being sucked out her.

Somehow, the human stayed cheerful. Honestly, her boyfriend didn't understand it; their baby was practically starving her, but she still smiled.

The only time she showed any fear was when she'd tell Mammon how worried she was for their baby; she hadn't felt it kick yet and she was worried it was too weak to do it.

Everytime she spoke this worry, Mammon would hold her close and start rubbing her belly.

"Now, don't go talking like that." He leaned in and laid a kiss to her temple. "Baby is gonna fine."

"But they--"

"But nothin', babe. You know it's a bit on the early side for that anyhow."

"It's early for others to feel something, but I should have felt something before this, a flutter or something but they--"

Tears poured down her cheeks, breaking her man's heart. Mammon froze for a moment before leaning in with a kiss.

"A-Are you sure they'll be okay?" She sniffled, looking up into his eyes.

"Of course, you think I'd lie to you?" He asked before giving her belly a gentle rub. "Look how our kid has grown already! If something went wrong, they wouldn't still be growing, now would they?"

"I... I guess."

Despite everything he said, the Avatar of Greed was scared shitless. What if she was right and something already went wrong? What if he already failed her and his kid? Those thoughts were too much for him though so he did whatever he could to push them aside.

It was during her seventh month when Lucifer discovered a potion she could try, one that could help with the nausea and help her keep more food down.

Mammon had to give it to her every morning, but it helped her keep most of her meals down and regain her strength.

The first few days, they kept her on light meals just in case, but afterwards, she had free reign to eat whatever she craved.

This was when the late night food runs started happening. In all honesty, Mammon never thought he'd be so grateful to be woken up at 2am to get weird food combos like ice cream and beef jerky (MC seemed to have a thing for sweet 'n salty food combos).

Things were finally starting to seem okay; MC was eating, regaining her weight, and just seemed so happy. Not forced positivity, but some real happiness.

Then, around half way done with her 7th month, it happened. MC was sitting in the living room with Mammon and a couple of his brothers she suddenly gasped.

"M-Mammon!"

The man jumped up and rushed to her side. All of the brothers were now standing too, alarmed.

"Shit! What's wrong??"

She grabbed his hand his hand and laid it on her belly. He gave her a confused look for a moment till it happened. A kick! Their baby actually kicked!

MC cried, but also smiled as she saw his face light up.

"Holy-- see! I told you our kid was alright!" He grinned. "Just goes to show that you need to be trusting The Great Mammon more!"

The other brothers settled back down in their seats. Beel actually smiled at the happy couple, grateful that things seem to be turning around for them.

Good Ending:

The rest of the pregnancy went smoothly, thanks to the potion. The couple's worries seemed to disappear for the most part. MC was eating again and healthier; their baby was kicking and seemed pretty lively. There were even nights where the kid kept their mother up (and in turn, their father) with all their kicks and movements, but they were glad to trade sleepless nights for the confirmation that their child was healthy too.

It was her 39 week, just barely missing the nine month mark, when MC went into labor. Mammon panicked in the beginning, causing MC to have to calm him down through her labor pains. The demon eventually got a grip on himself and started helping his girlfriend. After six hours of labor, the couple was greeted with a baby girl, who had her daddy's white hair, her mama's eyes, and surprisingly, two little nubs on her head, which will likely grow into horns just like her dad's. The couple cried along side their bundle of joy. Mammon leaned down and kissed his Human.

"You did so good, Babe. Just look at our girl there."

Most of the pregnancy... it definitely wasn't easy, but when the couple stared down at their little girl, they knew it was all worth it.

The couple ended up naming their daughter Cassia.

Bad End:

It was during the beginning of MC's eighth month when she went into labor. Mammon still remembers her panicked tears as she kept saying over and over that it was too soon. The second born had Lucifer call the doctor as he just held her close and tried to calm her. He gave his all to stay calm himself, but his Human's fear and pain really broke him down inside to the point where he'd have to quickly wipe a tear of his own away before she saw it.

In the end, MC's body was just too weak. Even though she recently had been able to regain some of her strength, it didn't erase the months before that of her body being near starved. The doctor was barely able to save his daughter. Mammon can still remember the look on his girlfriend's face when their girl entered the world, a weak smile of relief. She went to say something, but suddenly exhaled her last breath, leaving her body permanently stilled.

And just like that, he lost the only person who he felt gave a damn about him. He remembers collapsing in on himself while his brothers only saw him stare far away into space. He remembered when his younger brothers started throwing insults and blame his way, saying his stupidity killed her. And he remembered throwing himself against the brother closest to him, later noticing it to be Belphie, just punching him and crying. This shocked them to the point that no one, not even Beel stepped up to stop him for the longest moment. This wasn't Mammon. Mammon never laid a hand on his brothers.

Lucifer was the one who snapped out of it first and pulled the second born off of Belphie. The room was silent as he cried, practically in unison with his daughter in the other room. That was the moment where each of his brothers started to realize just how much Mammon loved MC. All of the brothers cared about her and were hurting from her death, but this was first moment where they really took the Avatar of Greed seriously with his own feelings.

The Brother's were a lot softer with Mammon from then on. No matter what he stole from them, no matter how much debt he racked up, they kept a certain tenderness in their heart for the brother who lost it all with MC's death.

As a dad... Mammon tried his best. No one doubted that, even when the other brothers had to jump in to feed the girl or quiet her cries while her father either cried in bed or searched for some sort of distraction to calm his mind. Looking at Cassia... it was hard for the dad. He'd look down into her eyes, the same eyes she got from her mother, and could only think about how MC should be there with him now... but how she's not.

As a baby and toddler, Cassia was mostly raised by Asmo and Beel. As a child, she had gotten closer with her Uncle Lucifer. Mammon was a loving, but distant dad who constantly tore himself down even when his brothers no longer did.

Leviathan:

Levi and MC got a good five months before facing any major difficulties.

Outside of the morning sickness in the beginning, everything was pretty calm with the pregnancy till then

And what happened at this point in time... honestly, no one could have predicted this.

The two were sitting in his room, each reading their own chosen manga.

When the woman had risen from his side, the otaku didn't really give it any thought, just assumed that she needed to go pee or grab another pillow.

It wasn't till heard a splash to his left that he looked up from his book and saw his pregnant girlfriend at the bottom of his giant fish tank.

Panicking, the demon dropped his book his and rushed up to the top of fish tank. He didn't even notice that he transformed into his demon form before jumping in and swimming down to the human

He quickly swam up with her and carried her back out and onto his floor.

"Shit shit!" The man stared down at the unconscious human, brain being uncooperative as he realised they were not breathing. Then it clicked and Levi put both hands on his Human's chest and repeatedly pressed down, starting CPR.

When his girlfriend eventually coughed up the water in her lungs and came to, he nearly fainted in relief.

He scooped her into his arms and started crying.

"W-What were you thinking???"

The demon didn't understand what just happened. His Henry almost drowned. And she was the one threw herself in! Was she trying to kill herself? Was the whole pregnancy and parenthood stuff getting too scary for her? Was he not taking care of her good enough? Oh devil... what if she thinks he's gonna be a bad dad and just wants to end it all now??

As the Avatar of Envy always did, he thought of the worse outcomes that he could blame himself for.

"I... Levi, what happened?"

??!!

"What do you mean, what happened? You tried to drown yourself!"

The woman's eyes went wide and she frantically shook her head.

"I... no! I would never do that to our baby!"

Even now, she wasn't even thinking of her own life. Just their child's. Levi was scared for their kid's life too, but got so panicked over her's that he didn't mention it before.

As he looked down into her horrified expression, the demon knew she was telling the truth. Or, at least she believed she was.

For a second, the man doubted what he just saw, just experienced. Her drenched hair and clothes were the only things that cemented him in the knowledge that he was right.

But then why did she sincerely believe differently?

Levi texted Lucifer that there was an emergency and needed him in his room now before he helped MC get changed out of her wet clothes.

By the time Lucifer came to the room, MC was in Levi's pj pants and one of his tshirts with a blanket wrapped around her to keep her warm.

Lucifer could sense something different with MC the moment he entered the room. As a demon skilled with magic and curses, he could sense the energy shift within her

And once his younger brother explained what had happened, it had all clicked into place for the first brother. Granted, it was just a theory at this stage, but all signs still pointed to it.

The situation seemed to be a side affect of her pregnancy and a magical one at that. Her baby needed something that they weren't getting so they took the reigns and made their mother give it to them.

That something? Water. The baby seems to have inherited they're father's affinity for water.

Levi was frozen where he and MC sat on the couch.

Basically what the third brother was hearing was that this was his fault, that he almost lost his girlfriend and baby because he has a connection to water.

The demon was ready with a slew insults to express his self blame, but was stopped by MC's quick kiss.

"Hey... none of that." She said softly. "It's okay, it's not your fault. Besides, you saved me."

She knew her boyfriend well enough to know when he was gonna tear himself down but this... she couldn't let him blame himself for something this big.

As per Lucifer's advice, MC started lounging in the bath a couple times a day to see if that would curb her baby's need to be surrounded by water. And surprisingly, it worked.

But as her pregnancy progressed and her belly grew, so did her need to be in water. She'd be fine for a few weeks then suddenly there would be another fish tank incident (though luckily, Levi would stop her before she would even get her feet wet) and her boyfriend would rush her to the bathtub. Each time this happened, the amount of sessions and length of said sessions in the bath increased.

In all honesty, it probably wasn't good for her skin to lay in water so much, but considering this was a life or death situation for her and the baby, it was worth dealing with pruney skin.

It got to the point where it felt like most of her day was spent in the tub and the woman hated it.

Actually ended up convincing Levi to join her for some sessions and loved snuggling up to her boyfriend in the tub.

Honestly, it was something the human wanted to continue between them even after her pregnancy.

Levi had to keep a close eye on her for the remaining months, which was stressful for the otaku, who couldn't really indulge in his usual hobbies, knowing he'd get too absorbed and possibly miss it the moment she needs him.

Still, the demon took care of his Henry well.

Good End:

The woman so ready to birth this baby. MC was so tired of spending her days in the bath tub and being sore and pruney so when the day came, she was nervous, but relieved. She was about a week overdue when her water broke and she went into labor. Levi was a nervous wreck for a most of it, but MC was very patient with him, despite her pain.

After six and half hours of labor, MC held their baby boy in her arms. Levi just stared in wonder at his son. His son. Who would of thought this would ever happen? If you would have told him before he met MC that he'd be a dad someday, he would of said something was wrong with you. If you would of said it after they started dating, he would of told you there was no way MC would wanna give him such a gift.

But there he was, staring down at the son that MC spent hours pushing out and even almost drowned once, just to bring him into this world. This... MC really was amazing.

"Do you wanna hold him?" She smiled at her boyfriend, breaking his thoughts.

The man tensed up, but gave a shy nod.

His girlfriend explained how to hold the baby before setting their son in his arms and telling him to make small adjustments. Levi stared down at his child, who had his hair and MC's eyes. Heck, the little boy even had a tail just like his. The man started tearing up and the human laughed.

"Don't... I'm not crying, I swear..."

After reviewing some of the baby names they talked about, the couple decided on the name Kai.

Bad End:

MC was halfway through her seventh month when it happened. They had recently had another incident of the woman finding her way to the fish tank and had to adjust her bathing schedule again. Bad news: MC had to spend another two hours in the tub each day. Good news? The woman should be incident-free for another couple weeks.

This was why Levi felt it was okay to leave the house, something he rarely felt like doing. He used to never mind spending most of his time in his room. Before this pregnancy, it was his safe haven, where he retreated into in order to avoid all of his troubles and the judgement that he felt he got from the world. Since MC has been pregnant though, that has been the room she spent all her time in, especially since things got... complicated.

His room was no longer a safe place; on the contrary, it was where all of his stress and fears lied. He still powered through it most days for MC's sake, but on transition days where the pattern showed her to be safe, he'd leave the house to go to the comic book store (which also sold manga). He made sure his brothers would keep checking up on her while he was gone.

But they didn't. For a variety of reasons, none of this brothers checked in on her until it was too late. Lucifer was busy working in his study. Mammon left for his modeling gig. Satan was out plotting things with Mephisto. Asmo was in his room, talking on the phone with someone while he did his nails. Beel was in the kitchen, trying to cook dinner and fighting the urge to just eat the ingredients. Belphie was asleep.

Eventually, Beel made his way to Levi's room to check on MC and found her floating face-down in the fish tank. Levi didn't come home until an hour after she was found. He started heading to his room when Lucifer stopped him and called him into the living room. His heart sank when he entered and saw all his brothers sitting around the room. Asmo was crying. Mammon was pretending not to be. The rest of his brothers simply look depressed.

Apparently, MC skipped a bath time while he was gone. She was just so on edge and didn't want to force herself into the water yet. The baby did though. And now they are both gone.

And just like that, the third brother was alone again. Levi locked himself in his room for months after her death, not leaving for school or to even eat. His brothers brought his meals to his room, but he often needed encouragement to eat. The man just wanted to cave into himself and hide away from it all, but the one place he could hide was the same room the human he loved died in... because he wasn't there to comfort her and have her take her bath.

He was so utterly alone. No Henry. No baby. And he felt that he had no one to blame but himself.

~

Part 2 | Part 3

[reyeslonestar]

I can’t face the world without you

Available on Ao3

a little (long) follow up to this fic. I hope you enjoy

TK x Carlos, Angst with a Happy Ending (yay), Coma, Proposal

tw, mention of a panic attack and cardiac arrest

1.9k words

TK sits in the uncomfortable hospital chair that he’s claimed as his own for the past week, tapping his fingers absently against the velvet box he’s holding in his hands. It’s the ring box that came out of Carlos’ uniform pocket when they’d had to cut the blood stained clothing off on the operating table - the final straw that broke the camel’s back of TK’s emotional capacity on the day that Carlos was shot. There's another box in his pocket - the ring inside the one that TK bought a few weeks ago. The one that he was going to offer to Carlos that Friday night after they'd crawled into bed, holding each other close as they revelled in the wonder of each other’s company.

They should be fiancés by now.

Instead, he’s watching the unnaturally silent stillness of the man he loves most in the world; the slow rhythm of the heart rate monitor a soundtrack to the fear in his head that he might never get the chance to ask that question, or to ever hear it returned.

Because Carlos has been in a coma for 8 days. And while the doctors are hopeful, TK knows there’s no certainty that he will wake up.

TK nearly had a panic attack when they told him Carlos went into cardiac arrest on the operating table, the fluids Tommy gave him in the ambulance not quite enough to counter the amount of blood he lost in the field. He was in a critical condition for some time, but the surgeons managed to pull him through the surgery and he was moved onto a ward in an induced coma. They eased off the anaesthetic the next morning, and from then it’s just been a waiting game.

TK refused to leave the hospital for the first three days, sleeping fitfully on the unforgiving plastic chair pulled up against the side of Carlos’ bed, his head pillowed against his boyfriend���s side - the side without all the bandages and the stitches that are holding Carlos’ organs and tissue in place.

On the fourth night Owen was adamant for TK to go home, have a shower, and sleep in a proper bed, and it was a testament to TK’s exhaustion that he couldn’t bring himself to argue. However, after waking in a cold sweat at 3am from the horror of having to helplessly watch Carlos bleed out in front of him over and over, this time without Tommy and Nancy and the ambulance supplies there to save him, TK had ordered an uber and snuck back through the hospital corridors in the early hours, trembling with relief to see Carlos alive and breathing, even if only thanks to various plastic tubes criss crossing his body, and even though the sight of him so unnervingly motionless burnt a sour taste down the back of TK’s throat.

Carlos’ parents have been here every day, too, coming by the room to sit quietly on the other side of Carlos’ bed, and each time the nurses wheeled Carlos away for scans and tests, Andrea and TK would sit together in silence, gripping tightly onto each other’s hands for support. There were a lot of tests in the first couple days, and scans to try and gauge his brain activity, to know when he’d wake up and what kind of state he’d be in. Apparently the results were hopeful, indicating everything looked to be normal for the circumstances, and that Carlos would be back with them soon.

But Carlos still hasn’t woken up. And TK is losing the fight against imagining the worst.

Grace and Judd had stopped by the night before - the whole 126 have been in and out of the hospital over the last week to visit and lend their support. Carlos became part of their family when he became part of TK’s and TK knows they’re missing him just as he is. Judd had pulled him into a tight hug, whispering that Carlos was strong, that he’d pull through, before planting a kiss on the top of his head, ruffling his hair as they’d parted. Grace’s hug had been softer, but no less loving, and they’d both sat by Carlos’ side for a time while Judd took Andrea and Gabriel to get some more coffee from the hospital cafe.

He’d felt her eyes on the way he’d been fiddling with the ring box, the same way he has been ever since he found it.

“You know I wanted to propose that night?” he’d said suddenly, voice scratching with the first words he'd willingly volunteered in days. “Nothing extravagant, just- in a way that was us,” he’d added, volume diminished to a hushed whisper on the last word.

Grace had squeezed his arm gently. “So did he,” she’d said quietly, and TK had just stared at her, unable to put anything into words. She’d shrugged slightly. “He was going to make you dinner that night and propose then. He wanted it to be special, but like you say, in a way that was you.”

Tk has felt too numb with fear to cry since he broke down on that first night, but he’d been pretty damn close then.

“I can’t lose him,” he’d whispered, barely loud enough to hear himself, but Grace had heard him anyway.

“I know, honey, I know,” she’d told him. “The same way I know he’s fighting to come right back to you.”

As much as TK wants to believe her words, as the hours creep late into Carlos’ ninth night in this bed, he’s wondering if maybe Carlos has fought all he can. Maybe his strength finally gave out and the beeping machines next to him is the only thing keeping that chest steadily rising and falling.

Tucking his chair as close to the bed as he can, TK draws Carlos’ hand to his lips as he rests his head against the bedcovers, settling in for another night of interrupted sleep.

“I need you back, Carlos,” he whispers, holding back the tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks. “I dont- I can’t face the world without you.”

-

Tk wakes to the feeling of a gentle hand stroking through his hair with slow movements. He blinks slowly and looks up to see warm brown eyes smiling at him.

“Hi,” Carlos whispers, his voice a hoarse and grating sound from a week's disuse.

It’s the most wonderful sound TK has ever heard.

He cries Carlos’ name brokenly, launching himself at Carlos' neck to hold him close. He can feel Carlos chuckling slightly under his chest even as he pulls TK closer and he closes his eyes to soak in this feeling.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into Carlos’ neck and Carlos holds him even tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Carlos whisper, and he pulls back abruptly.

“No,” he says firmly, wiping away the tears that have slipped down his face. “No, you have nothing to apologise for.” He stands up, shifting into action. “Let me get you some water and then we need to get your doctor, get you checked out-”

Carlos’ hand tugging on his interrupts him. “I love you,” Carlos says, voice still scratchy and rough, but he’s smiling at TK, who sits heavily back into his chair.

“I love you too,” he says, squeezing Carlos’ hand painfully. “I love you so much and I thought I was going to lose you and-” he stops and takes a breath, halting the runaway train of his fear in its tracks. “I’m just so happy to see you again,” he finishes with a whisper.

“I’m here,” Carlos says. “And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

-

TK hovers by Carlos’ bed for the next few hours, only stepping far enough away to allow the doctors and nurses to check Carlos over, run tests and eventually remove the various apparatus that have helped keep him alive. Gabriel and Andrea are a teary mess when they see their son sitting up, breathing, talking, alive, and TK can’t blame them. He feels like he’s been holding his body up through sheer stress and worry, and now he knows Carlos is going to be okay, he’s ready to collapse with relief.

At long last, though, the hospital staff retreat and Carlos’ parents head to the cafe to leave Carlos and TK alone once more and TK doesn’t miss the way Carlos sighs with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Do you need something? I can get you something to eat, or drink, or if you need to sleep-”

“I just want you,” Carlos interrupts gently. “I want to ask you something.”

There's something in his voice that makes TK sit up straighter and he frowns slightly. “What’s up?”

“When I woke up- you were holding a box,” Carlos starts, and TK, realising what he’s referring to, pulls the two ring boxes from his pocket and holds up the one from Carlos’ uniform so Carlos can see it. He nods, taking it from TK’s fingers and studying it as he carries on, “I had a whole dinner planned, you know? I was going to cook for us, lay the table out on the terrace and then after we’d eaten I was going to get down on one knee, and ask you. I definitely didn’t plan for this to happen but-” He opens the box carefully, turning it so the ring faces TK and takes a deep breath.

“I love you, TK. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to wake up every morning and know that the love of my life is lying next to me. I want to have a family with you, and make every house we live in into our home. I want to make you dinner whenever we feel like it and spend half our day off in bed even though one in the afternoon is outrageously late for a lie in.” TK chuckles slightly at the dig at his unwillingness to get up in the mornings and Carlos smiles, so bright and warm.

“I didn’t know I could love anyone like this until I met you.” Carlos continues, “You’ve filled my life with so much happiness and I want to try and make you as happy as I can for as long as I can, so - Tyler Kennedy Strand, will you marry me?”

TK smiles tearfully as he ruefully holds up his own box, laughing slightly as he sees realisation dawn on Carlos’ face. “Beat me to it, didn’t you?” he jokes, opening the box to look at the simple platinum band set with diamonds inside. “I’m afraid I didn't plan a dinner, or a big speech. All I knew was that I wanted to ask you, because I want all those things, too. You’re my family and you’re also my home. You’re the best thing in my life- Carlos, you nearly died and I-” he pauses, swallowing back the shadow of choking fear that threatens to mute him. “I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re everything to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don’t want to go another day without asking you to marry me. So yes, Carlos Reyes, I will marry you, but only if you marry me first.”

Carlos laughs through the tears welling in his eyes, pulling TK in by the wrist to kiss him, whispering “I love you” against his lips. When they pull back, he gently threads the ring onto TK’s left hand, his own hand trembling when TK returns the gesture. TK brings Carlos’ hand up to his lips in a mirror of the last night of Carlos’ coma and kisses the ring, warm lips against cool metal.

“I love you,” TK says quietly. “And I can’t wait to love you for the rest of our lives.”

[catboyshinsou]

jazz from heaven

pairing: aizawa x gn!reader

warnings: stress mention, panic attack mention, crying

word count: 1800

summary: after a stressful week, reader drives to aizawa’s apartment at 2am for comfort

Footsteps echoed in the never ending staircase, mocking you for your late night visit. Quick, shaky breaths left you as you reached the top floor. You had always hated the position of his apartment, in the middle of the city and on the top floor. It made going in and out easier for hero work since he could use the roof to enter and leave without making too much of a fuss. After climbing the mountain of stairs that was understandable but in this very moment, you hated that he lived here with every fiber of your being.

It was a quiet saturday morning. For once the streets were empty, even the high end villains would be sleeping by now. Everyone was asleep but you. You had made your way to your boyfriend's apartment at 3am and hoped for the love of everything that's holy that he was awake.

Of course as a teacher and pro, he was bound to be awake to grade or just coming back from patrol. It was the weekend of course and you'd normally hope

he was getting some rest but now you needed him awake. Just awake enough to give you a hug.

You knocked on the door, the sounds echoing in the halls. One, two, three.

You chewed on your lip and pulled on your fingers while you waited for an answer. Maybe it was too quiet? Maybe he was sleeping?

With a knot in your throat, you stood in front of the wood door, sniffing quietly. The week had been rough, today being the worst it's been in a while. You hadn't seen Shouta in a week. UA gave him more work than he usually had, especially since he was a homeroom teacher again. Of course you guys had kept in touch through texts and calls but right now you needed the real thing. You didn't want to be the clingy s/o, even if you've wanted to come by every day this week.

On Monday, when customers had yelled at you all day long you just wanted to sink into his arms.

On Tuesday, when weird guys chatted you up on the street and didn't leave until you dared to call someone.

On Wednesday, when you met old friends and they pointed out how much happier you seemed back in the day and how much you've lost your smile.

On Thursday, when you overthought yourself into an extensive panic attack in your bedroom.

Friday had been the worst. You almost immediately started bawling once you got home from an extra shift at work, barely being able to hold yourself for a couple of hours until the tears stopped. The next thing you could remember was being on your way to his place.

Your phone lit up the dark corridor, blue light shining onto your face. 'hey, it's me at your door’

Footsteps approached, dragging themselves over the wood floor. After a few seconds of unlocking the rather old door, Shouta opened and gave you an unamused look.

“It’s 2am, y/n.”

He had a towel throw over his shoulders, his damp hair falling on it. The usual hero jumpsuit was nowhere to be seen, his pink sweatpants instantly catching your eye. Paired with a washed out and too big shirt, he looked about bed ready even if you knew he wouldn’t be sleeping for another hour or two. Warm air came from behind him, you smelling the shampoo Mic had recommended him a few weeks ago.

“I know… I’m sorry…” You breathed out while walking into his apartment. Your eyes glued to the floor, a shaky breath escaped you as you took off your shoes.

The pro’s eyes softened. His confusion turned into concern, reminding himself that your late night visits usually had a reason. 

You stood back up and took another deep breath. Guilt washed over you when you remembered that you showed up at Shouta’s door at 2am, when he was probably exhausted and just wanted to go to bed. Your cheeks burned as he walked past you into the living room, one of the only light sources except from the bathroom behind you. 

Shouta had just gotten done with the last grades, the pile of graded papers neatly next to his mug of tea and all of his work stuff. He wanted to finish school stuff up, even if patrol had worn him out, so that he could completely relax on the upcoming weekend.

“Sorry for not calling more, I’ve been really busy with school…” He walked past you and put away the stacks of paperwork, so that the cat didn’t have her fun with them if she came home overnight. “Kids can be such a pain, I don’t know why I agreed to be a homeroom teacher.”

A few cars passed by, slow jazz coming from another apartment. It was a faint sound but just enough to push you to the edge. Lights flickered when you took another step into the apartment, as if you had just disrupted its peace. 

He huffed as he turned off the lights and got back to you. You who was still awkwardly standing in the corridor as if this was your first time at his place. You pulled on your fingers and just watched him put his stuff away. 

“Everything okay?” He stood in front of you now, a hand on your cheek and soft eyes looking into yours. Even if he wasn’t the most expressive with his own emotions, he had mastered yours. Something was wrong, even if you probably didn’t want to think about it. You probably still would either today or tomorrow but he didn’t want to inquire more.

With a gentle tug, he pulled you into his arms and pressed you close to him. His warmth surrounded you while he patted your head. Tears streamed down your face, silent sobs escaping you. You started shaking as the sobs got more violent, Shouta just holding you and stroking your back. 

“Oh, y/n…”

The tears soaked into his black t-shirt, your arms wrapped around him as you heaped. Keeping your low as low as possible, it was still 2am after all, you felt his steady breath against you. It made you feel safe, as if nothing could happen to you anymore.

Shouta didn’t know why you showed up to cry. But after working with a lot of different people, including teenagers and kids, he knew that this wasn’t the appropriate time to ask. What you needed was a no judgement zone and comfort.

With the last tears flowing, you started regulating your breath again. Your boyfriend noticed your deepening breaths, holding you even closer.

“That’s right, just deep breaths…” With a low whisper, he gave you kisses on your forehead as you did just that.

You sniffed and took a shaky breath as you buried your face in his shoulder. With a tightened grip on him, you just took him in and waited for the uneasy feeling to leave your system. You still trembled, trying to hold back the tears that dared to spill again. It was enough crying for today. In fact, you had cried enough for a lifetime this past week. Shouta was probably exhausted too, he didn’t need more to worry about.

Of course, he noticed your struggle. If one of you pulled another closer, you would practically merge so he felt the way you trembled and how your breath still wasn’t regulated. In moments like these, he wished he could do more. Somehow make you realise that everything would be okay and you could let it out here without being a burden to him. But he could only hold you like this while reassuring you in every way he could.

“Do you want to go to bed? A tea before?” 

You shook your head and let go of him. Your head banged and your eyes burned. With the collar of your shirt you wiped away the trail of tears on your cheeks, the fabric irritating your eyes even more.

“Let’s go to bed then…” He tugged you into his bedroom and opened his drawer to give you something warmer to sleep in. 

The room was neater than you expected. How did he find the time to keep everything so tidy if he was barely home? His laundry was folded and stacked on his bed, the school stuff on his desk with his laptop. The only other mess here was his bed with half torn off sheets and different pillows and blankets all over. You smiled at his little chaos before plopping onto it.

“C’mon, wear that.” He tossed one of his sweaters at you, which you somehow caught before it landed in your face. “It’s gonna be getting colder.”

Without questioning him, you just changed into it. The fabric felt soft on your skin, you could tell it was fresh out of the machine. It smelt like fabric softener, the one that only he had because he ran his errands in those 24/7 shops after patrols and those were somehow the only ones that carried this brand. You couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it smelled like so it was just Shouta. One of those things you would always connect with him like cats and pink sweatpants.

You looked over at his desk, an extra picture frame of what you guessed was his new class on it. It was too far away for you to see the individual faces but they seemed like an interesting group already.

Shouta sighed and let himself fall next to you. “Wanna talk about what happened?”

With a deep breath you shook your head and rolled over to face him. Your head still ached, you couldn’t speak if you wanted to. Your throat hurt, the knot completely tying off your words.

He took you into his arms and pulled the blanket over your shoulders. “Want me to talk?”

You nodded into his chest and took another deep breath. This was what you had needed over the week. His presence, his touch, his voice. They were natural tranquilizers for you, reassurances that everything would be okay. 

“Nezu gave me class 1-A, can you believe that?” His hands were on the nape of your neck, his thumb caressing behind your ear. “I had them do a fitness test on the first day… I watched them during the entrance exam and I just wasn’t fully convinced… Remember the kid I told you about that just got in through rescue points? And the one that only got in with villain points? Yeah, they’re both in my class and it’s more than obvious that they don’t get along well… They’ve all got interesting quirks, it’s a pretty colourful group and I’m... interested how they’re gonna train them...”

Both of you started getting sleepier with every word he said. He ended up slurring his words as he yawned before silence fell. There was still the jazz playing from somewhere outside, cars passing by occasionally. You hicked a few breaths but Shouta made sure to hold you closer and whisper reassuring words when you did.

“Can I stay here for the weekend?” You croaked right before falling asleep.

“You’re always welcome here, y/n…”

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Four

(Gif's not my own.) 

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

-It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

-This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

-English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

-Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

-Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

-Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Four starts after the cut. (Chapter Three can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

Chapter Four

Chapter warnings: PTSD, angst (or as much angst as I’ll ever write), couple’s fight, outdated expectations of marriage (is that even a warning?), mentions of masturbation.

This chapter is a little different from the previous ones and it’s stitched together weirdly. Also, there’s no smut (which is unusual for me!), but Chapter 5 will be more humorous and lighthearted.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

“When’s your next leave?” Harper asked from behind the wheel, knowing better than to take his eyes off the sand road. He had been transferred to the Special Forces after the whole water pumping station incident, with Sy’s approval.

They were at the very back of the convoy, like always. It was the only way Sy was able to keep all the Humvees in sight and look out for everyone.

“Not sure I’m gonna be seeing home before July.” Sy replied, blue eyes scrunched up as he tried making something, anything out in the darkness surrounding them. Doing this scouting mission at night hadn’t been his idea, but the order had come from higher up and it was when the guards were at their lowest.

Harper smiled, a short huff escaping his chest. “Ah yes! What are you going do once you’re home for good?” The soldier asked, the tiniest hint of teasing in his voice. “Give your wife a small army of Texan babies?”

Sy scoffed, his chest shaking beneath the heavy protective vest. “Eyes on the road, soldier.”

“Yes, captain.” Harper chuckled even as he obeyed the command.

The rest of the drive went by in silence. The whole point of doing it at night was to be unseen and unheard. Confirm it was an armory so that an airstrike could later destroy it. Quick and easy.

Sy absentmindedly rubbed his finger through the thick glove, trying to feel the wedding band beneath. He never took the thing off, but it still somehow eased his mind to make sure it was there – make sure she was there across the ocean. They had talked on the phone the night before and he could still hear her shriek as she stubbed her toe on the doorframe whilst pacing around the house as she spoke to him. She wanted to order new tires for his pickup truck because she was afraid the current ones would be expired once he got back. He told her not to worry about any of that, but she insisted and then asked about Aika, changing subjects. No matter what they talked about, he always slept better after hearing her voice.

The landscape changed ever so slightly. They were there, right outside the deserted town’s walls. Sy gave everyone the order to pull up and get ready. It was only when he stepped out of the Humvee, his feet landing swiftly on the soft sand and the cold night’s air hitting his face, that he realized that Sy had been there already. He was dreaming again.

He had been there hundreds of times, taken the same steps, given the same orders and run away from the same explosion. After having the same nightmare night after night, the shock and the surprise element had lessened, but the dread remained unchanged. Sy was cursed to relive the same scene again and again, for moments even wondering if he lacked imagination so much that his mind was unable to come up with anything else.

Still, every night, he'd try changing the outcome, attempt to take control of his past self and make different decisions: refuse the mission, take a different team, catch Lieutenant Wilkins before he had a chance to run into the trap. It never worked. The result was always the same with him shouting for everyone to retreat and grabbing on to the back of Wilkins' uniform, trying to drag him out of the building, unsuccessfully. Then the telltale detonation followed, the building shook and they were thrown backwards with the explosion. When Sy landed on the concrete, there was a corpse - or what remained of it - on top of him. It was what had shielded him from the worst.

He once tried to warn Wilkins about the child's voice asking for help, to tell him it was a trap and that they needed to ignore it, but he was unable to speak. They were there, on the exact spot, a large room right down the stairs with no windows or lights, only three parted doors. Unlike the first time, the real time, he knew what was about to happen, through what door the grenade would be thrown out of before rolling on the dusty ground. And he went through it all over again.

It was the noise that alerted him the first time, the impact as it hit ground and then the rolling sound on the uneven surface.

"Retreat!" Sy heard his own voice shout loud enough for the rest of the team behind them to hear, then an echo of hurried, heavy footsteps followed.

He knew what happened then. Sy waited for the faint, unidentifiable cry for help and for Wilkins to blindly bolt towards the voice, the grenade.  He knew he'd unable to stop him this time just like all the others. What was the point of making him relive the same failure over and over again?

"Help!"

Sy froze on the spot, unlike all the other previous nights. This time it was not a random infantile voice. It was Ada's. She was crying out for help, for him.

This time it was him who dashed after the voice, the grenade exploding before he could reach her.

°°°

Ada thought that they had dodged the bullet, that they had somehow managed to avoid all the stuff she had crammed her head with when she had found out Sy was retiring from active combat sooner than expected. The notes she had taken, the websites she had visited, the therapists she had researched and ranked according to online reviews; she had started to think none of these would come in handy. Apart from that small incident when grocery shopping and the whole thing with Tom, Sy was okay, they were okay. Or so she thought.

It only took maybe eight days of Sy being back home to find out that wasn't true. It was almost like when you took a plane and fly halfway across the globe. The first days you’d eat dinner at 3am and go to bed three hours later and nothing felt real. Then it settled in. But this wasn't a spontaneous holiday or a mid-life crisis, this was an honorable discharge. Sy wasn't leaving behind an unsatisfying career, he was leaving the war.

He came home. They reunited, caught up with each other, basked in other's presence. Ada had to keep reminding herself that she could fall asleep at night without the anxiety of feeling like she was wasting away his leave with something as frivolous as sleep.

Only sleep wasn't frivolous, Ada soon came to realize. Sy slept well the first few nights back home. The exhaustion helped, so did sex. Sy would kiss her, roll over, pull her into his arms and fall right asleep after it.

That changed quickly. On the eight night, she woke up to pee hours before dawn only to find his side of the bed empty. She found him downstairs playing on his new console. It was the jetlag that made him unable to sleep, he said. Ada knew better, even as she acquiesced.

The following night, after making love and taking care of her, Sy didn't even bother pretending he was going to bed. "I won't be able to sleep anyways and I don't want to keep you up," he claimed, putting on a t-shirt and some sweatpants before going out for a run. It was past midnight.

After going two days with barely shutting his eyes, Sy did finally fall asleep in bed with her. Ninety minutes later, he was awake again.

"You okay?" Ada groaned softly, forcing her eyes open but it was too dark to see anything. She had woken up with his tossing and turning.

"Yeah, just go back to sleep," Sy replied dismissively, turning on his side and facing the window away from her.

Ada was about to do just that, believing his words in her incoherent sleepiness, when her hand touched his clammy back. He had managed to sweat through his t-shirt, but his skin remained icy.

"You're not okay," she whispered to herself before switching on her small bedside lamp and sitting up.

"I told you to go back to sleep, Ada," Sy protested, still facing away from her.

She shook her head softly and tried to pull him into her arms, but he was too heavy, and she couldn't move him without his help. "If something's wrong, you can tell me, you know."

She waited in silence for him to answer, to say something, anything at all. She had planned on watching podcasts, meeting with veterans and whatever she could do to help, but Sy had come home several months earlier than planned and she didn't know what to do, what was expected of her as a wife, as his partner, as his support person.

"Alright, you don't have to talk if you don't want to," she attempted quietly, sliding back into bed and moving in behind him, doing her best to be the big spoon for once. "We can just cuddle until you fall asleep."

Apparently, that turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Sy jumped out of bed as if her touch had burnt him. "I'm not a fucking child, Ada. I don't need your cuddles."

She flinched at his tone, taking a deep breath but her voice still came out strangled. "I was not implying you were a child, Sy. I just thought - no - I just hoped that you would find some comfort with me," she admitted but he was already getting dressed, sweaty skin and all. "Clearly I was wrong."

His face was red behind his full beard. He was pissed, she could almost feel him buzzing as he tried to restrain his anger and not - she didn't know what he was keeping himself from doing. Whatever it was, Ada was sure his next words hurt just as much as whatever he was initially going to do.

"I don't need you to fucking comfort me, woman!" He spat out, putting on a pair of boots. "I don't need anyone's help and certainly not my wife's!"

With that, he marched to the bedroom door, forcefully throwing it open. "I'm going out for air. Don't wait up for me."

They barely saw each other the next day. Sy texted that he was going to spend some time with his mom. Still hurt and offended, even though she knew this was not about her, Ada left for the day without telling him her whereabouts.

She took her car and drove to the animal shelter to help out. No one was expecting her there, but they gave her some work to do and it did help her feel better for a couple hours at least. But it was barely noon when she was done and she refused to go home, meeting up with friends instead. None of them asked why she wasn't at home practically glued to Sy. They were used to their friend pretty much vanishing off the face of the Earth whenever Sy came home for two or three weeks, but they were wise enough not to question it.

His words had stung. Ada was aware he had been mad, and that people always said dumb stuff when they were mad, but she did find some truth in his words. Why would he need her comfort? Her help? Or even a wife at all?

Sy had lived thirty-three years without knowing her and then three more married to her but living continents' apart. He could command soldiers, lead missions, plan attacks and whatever it was that he also did back in Iraq. The house was his, his mom would be overjoyed to cook for him and do his laundry again if he didn’t want to do it himself and Ada didn't kid herself - if he wanted sex, all he had to do was walk into a bar.

So, technically speaking, she knew Sy didn't need her. He was a grown ass man who could survive on his own better than ninety-nine percent of the population. What had hurt her was that he didn't want her, nor her help or her comfort. And if he didn't want her to try and make his life a lil' bit better, what was even the point.  Ada didn't know and all the cocktails she consumed didn't provide an answer either, but they did end up forcing her to eat almost her own weight in food to soak up all the alcohol before driving back home at ten.

She was still fishing out her keys to open the front door, when Sy pulled it open with so much force, it almost flew off its hinges.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Sy shouted as soon as she set a foot inside.

"I was out with friends.” Ada took off her shoes by the door. "How's your mom?" She looked up only long enough to find him staring down at her with his thick arms crossed in front of his chest.

"I sent you a dozen texts and called you just as many times, but you never picked up." Oh, his tone had switched to that unsettling calm before the storm.

"I apologize, my phone was on silent," Ada replied. It was true, though she had still noticed his calls and texts. "Look I am tired, and I am going to take a shower." She said before walking upstairs to their bedroom.

To her surprise, Sy followed her up, stopping only at their room’s threshold as if he weren’t allowed inside without her forgiveness. "I am sorry for yesterday," he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s okay.” Ada shook her head, undressing rapidly and balling up her dirty clothes to throw them in the hamper. She smelt like a whole bar and she was desperate for a shower.

“I didn’t mean it, what I said,” he added, finally walking inside the room but still keeping his distances.  

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” She reassured him, disappearing inside the en-suite. This was just a fight. Couples had them all the time. Sy had even apologized. “I am sorry too. For today.”

His voice startled her, Sy was closer than she had expected. “Do you have need for me?” He asked, making her still as she bent down to fetch some fresh towels from the drawer. Did she have need for him? Ada frowned even though he couldn’t see her face. She heard him sigh again behind her.

"I felt useful back in Baqubah. I ran that city, commanded soldiers, gave my country something and then an explosion happens, two of my men die. And you know what they do? They send me home. Not to punish me for fucking up; they send me home because they thought I had witnessed enough shit and deserved an honorable discharge. Whatever the reason, my services weren't needed there anymore."

"Then I come home to my wife, to you, Ada. And you know what?” He asked before providing the answer himself. “The doors don't screech, the mirror has been replaced and my wife doesn’t even need me to take her out on dates or to the movies because she already has someone for that. So really, what's my goddamn purpose here? The house doesn't need me. You don't need me. Even my mother doesn't need me what with her new boyfriend. So why the fuck did I come back?"

He paused and Ada took it as a chance to stand up and face him. She didn’t know what this was. His voice wasn’t loud, he wasn’t shouting, and his posture didn’t appear hostile. They weren’t arguing, this was something different. “That’s not-” Sy cut her off.

"Then, last night, I realize that while you don't need me, I sure as hell need you, Ada. And that's not how I imagined my marriage would be. I should be the provider. I should be taking care of you, not the other way around."

"This is not the 1950s, Sy," Ada chuckled faintly despite herself.

"That don’t matter. It's how I was raised: preside, provide and protect. I don't care about the presiding part; I knew from day one that I'd never be able to boss you around and I didn't want to. But I still very much believe in providing for and protecting what's mine, and instead, you're the one doing that. So, not only did I fail my men back in Iraq, but now I’ve failed you too."

“No. Stop right there.” Ada interrupted him, more forcefully than intended. "Okay, first, you never failed me. Don’t you ever say that.” Sy huffed from his spot by the door, clearly unconvinced but she was determined to get this out. “Second, I... I think you need to stop settling for being needed and instead accept that you are loved, at least by me."

Sy stiffened against the doorframe, his face taking over an unreadable expression beneath his beard. Shit. Did she mess up again? "Did I say something wrong?"

He didn’t reply right away. Ada took a few steps to him when his words took her by surprise. "You said you loved me."

She stopped in her tracks, opening her mouth and closing it again a few times, stammering. Confusion was evident on her face. "Well, yeah."

"You've never said it before," Sy explained, the hint of a smile on his lips.

Ada frowned, a little unsteady on her feet as she thought back. "Are you certain? I'm pretty sure that is what I ended all our phone calls with."

He shook his head. "I meant in person.”

"Oh, I never realized.”

The cold bathroom tile floor was not the place either of them would have picked out under different circumstances, but it was where Sy finally allowed himself to be cuddled into the warmth of her embrace for the first time, his head resting against her naked breast with her slow heartbeat lulling him into a different kind of peace. “I do love you, Sy.”

Ada was no fool, this wouldn’t soothe all his troubles, but for now, it was a start. And that was all she could ask for.

°°°

Sy sat down on the chair in their study. Most walls were covered with Ada’s textbooks from floor to ceiling. He huffed at the sight. If you’d told him five years ago that he’d end up with an academic wife, he’d have laughed in your face. Now, he tested touched the shelves, watching them wobble slightly and decided he ought to build her something sturdier.

First, he had to take care of some administrative bullshit for the new job he'd be starting at Camp Marbry in January. He had always hated bureaucracy but there was no escaping it. He had learned it the hard way as a private. Maybe it was also time he started going through their utilities folders. Ada had taken over all of it when they got married, managing their bank accounts and paying the bills. Sy hadn't taken of that shit in years but he probably should relieve her of some of those chores.

His eyes wandered over to the neatly organized shelves under the office desk, trying to find the correct binder when his attention landed on what appeared to be a fancy silver notebook. Was that the one Tom had mentioned?

Sy knew he shouldn't go through her stuff, but he was curious and it was not like she had hidden it or anything. Ending his hesitation with a shrug, he picked up the notebook only for stray bits of paper to immediately fly out and land on the carpeted floor. "Shit!"

He bent down and gathered them all up quickly in his hand, lest Ada find out he was snooping and chide him like a soldier. He sat back on the chair and started reading through some of the bits and slips of paper he had caught: "shaving gel not cream!", "dog treats (the fancy ones)", "boxer briefs in L"... They were all dated too. Sy figured they were just old shopping lists until he opened the notebook.

The first part appeared to be a logbook of sorts with notes about each and every one of their calls for the past year. Sy went over some of them, grinning despite himself. He never imagined Ada took notes during their weekly phone calls.

"Sy says it's really cold at night in the desert."

"He seems a little down..."

"Aika has a sweet tooth." Damn, he missed that dog!

“Explosion. Two men dead.”

He skipped over the next few pages, remembering it all too well. After the logbook part, came a set of lists, all dated. "The monthly care packages," Sy realized, reading through them and concluding that this was where the bits of paper had fallen from.

All the care package lists were cross-referenced with the calls logbook. Sy had never understood how she always managed to send him exactly what he needed. He wasn't even aware that he had mentioned most of these small things to her. Most of the time, he didn't even understand how she managed to fit so much stuff into those small USPS boxes. Whenever he tried putting everything back in the cardboard box for safekeeping, half of it didn't fit back inside.

He flipped through a few more care packages before landing on a particularly long list. The date was highlighted, it was the package he had received on the month of his birthday. Ada had made him promise not to open it before the 18th. “You can open the box, but I will know if you open the present before your birthday, Sy,” she had warned him on the phone, trying to sound very stern.  “And if you do, I’ll come to Iraq just to whoop your ass.” He had laughed so loudly, Harper had knocked on his door to make sure he was alright.

Sy laughed again as he went over the list, remembering how the private from the deliveries and postal department kept on complaining because packages this big were 'not usually authorized' and that he was getting 'favor treatment' because he was captain and that Ada shouldn't even have been allowed to ship a box exceeding the maximum dimensions. Sy had taken the package from the soldier and asked if he fancied a trip to the infirmary. That had shut him up quickly.

There had been candy (no chocolate because it had melted through its packaging once when she had tried sending him some), gum, the two first James Bond novels, dog treats, a new photo of his niece and nephew, underwear that was way too fancy for him and a handwritten letter from Ada.

What had immediately caught his attention was the very neatly wrapped gift box with a big red bow and a small card that reminded him once more not to open it until his birthday and only when he was alone.

Sy laughed, remembering how giddy he was to open that damn box. They'd gone on a recon mission on his birthday and when they got back, everyone was exhausted and dirty. He had hurried to the showers, cutting off some soldiers and then rushed to his private room to open the gift.

In all his adult life, Sy could only remember blushing three times, two of them the same day. First was when Ada said 'I do’ and he tried sliding the ring on her finger, but nervous and tipsy like he had been, the damn tiny thing slipped off his hand and fell on the carpet. Second was when the limo supposed to bring them back to their hotel was caught up in traffic, and the two of them decided to get it on in the chapel's storage room while another couple was getting married. Not only did they promptly – and accidentally, might he add – knock over all the props, he literally ended up fucking her through the cheap and unstable dry wall. The look on the couple’s face had been priceless!

The third time was on his birthday. Inside the box, he had found a handful of professionally made photos of Ada in lingerie and sometimes not even that much. If that didn't have his mind spinning and his dick throbbing after so many months away, he certainly couldn't believe his eyes when he found a small tube of lube and a transparent fleshlight.

It was not the gift as such that made him blush. The photos had him beyond excited and he was all too eager to try out the fleshlight. No, the embarrassment only settled in afterwards. More specifically when Sy remembered that despite having a private room as a captain, the washrooms where shared and he found himself cleaning the fleshlight in the sink with the little water they had, hoping no one would see him.

"Oh shit!"

Sy jumped in his chair at her voice, he hadn't heard her get home, let alone upstairs.

"Fuck. You weren’t meant to see that, Sy.” Ada babbled, quickly walking up to him with a sheepish look on her face.

Sy smiled, interrupting her as he seized her hips and pulled her down to sit on his lap. "It’s okay, darlin'."

Ada's eyes widened incredulously. "Really? You’re not even mad at me for meeting with a therapist to get advice?"

Sy closed his eyes, nostrils flaring for a moment. Right. Admittedly, he had not yet made it to that part but while he wasn't exactly keen on discussing his private life with strangers, he felt no anger at finding out that Ada had tried to look after him. Her words from last night had somehow made it through his thick skull.

"No, I'm not angry, not even for that. I know you were just trying to-"

Sy opened his eyes again at her silence only to find his wife grinning like the Cheshire cat as she looked at the open page on the notebook.

"You didn't even make it that far, huh?" She chuckled, pointing at the list. "Nope, you were still stuck with that ridiculous birthday gift I gave you!" While her tone was accusatory, Sy could see that she was trying not to burst out laughing.

Rolling his eyes, he pried the notebook from her hands and set it down on the desk. "It was not a ridiculous gift. I kept it all," Sy reassured her, pressing her body closer to his. "Well, not the lube. That was gone in weeks. And the photos are definitely a little used now but-"

Ada kissed him out of the blue, shutting him up. "Sy, I really love you but you're giving me secondhand embarrassment right now."

The bear of a man laughed, holding ever impossibly tighter before kissing her forehead. "I love you too, wife." Then, another thought crossed his mind. “Do you think it’s possible to send a care package to a dog?”

@colourmeinblue​ @hail-horror-queen​ @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl​ @kmuir1​ @madbaddic7ed​ @coffeebreathy​ @purplelove75​ @summersong69​ @helenaellie​

[ashiiixoxo]

“Just say it” Lucifer x reader

Thank you for the 100 followers I feel so grateful to everyone that helped my account grow in a little over 2 months❤️ so here is my 100 followers series! One word: A N G S T

Lucifer: “just say it”

Mammon: “final goodbye”

Leviathan: “game over”

Satan: “last chapter”

Asmodeus: “what is love at the first sight”

Beelzebub: “midnight snack”

Belphegor: “by my side”

You giggled as Asmodeus brushed your hair. Currently, you were sitting in Asmo’s room, getting ready for Diavolo’s party. This party was extra special because it would also be the last one you would be attending, which is why Asmodeus is helping you get ready for this special night.

“What do you think?” Asmodeus places another mirror behind you so you could see your hair. Gasping, you smiled at him. “It looks stunning!” Your bright eyes stared into his. “All eyes on us, Mc.” He beamed. You grinned, “do you think he’ll like it?” You asked. “Like it? I bet he’ll drag you off back home as soon as he sees you.” Asmodeus wiggles his eyebrows. You blushed at his words.

Asmodeus got dressed and helped you in your outfit. Your eyes widened when you looked at your reflection. Was that really you? “It’s such a shame you’re in love with Lucifer otherwise I would’ve taken you here on spot.” Asmodeus’ hands reached your waist as he stood behind you. Asmodeus sighed as his D.D.D went off. He picked up and left his room with you still standing in front of the mirror.

Posing in front of the mirror, you took a bunch of pictures to post on Devilgram. scrolling through the pictures and slightly editing them with nice lightning, you still weren't satisfied. maybe some pictures with the brothers? you grinned at the idea. 

you decided to look for mammon first, The Great Mammon would definitely take a picture with you. 

you giggled as you took some more photo’s, you had some with mammon, Asmo and later the twins joined as well in your little photoshoot session. everyone was looking good in their suits. only making you imagine what Lucifer would look like. 

unlike you and his brothers, he got ready at Diavolo’s castle. of course Diavolo wanted Lucifer to get ready at the castle, he is Diavolo’s right hand after all. and because of that, he needs to help with the preparations.��

the seven of you entered the gates of the demon lord palace. Barbatos was already waiting for your arrival and greeted the you and the brothers. Barbatos lead the way inside to the grand hall. Diavolo saw Barbatos leading you guys and immediately approached.

“welcome! its wonderful having you all here!” diavolo grinned and gave you a tight hug before greeting the brothers. you looked around but there was no sign of the oldest brother being here. you spotted Luke, Simeon and Solomon who waved at you. Luke ran to your side to greet you. over the past months you had become real close to the young angel, who you considered as a little brother and sometimes jokingly your son. 

the young angel dragged you to his fellow angel and Solomon. “you look stunning tonight MC.” Simeon complimented, followed by a nod from Luke and Solomon. you thanked them for the compliment and complimented their attire as well. 

“our last party here, huh?” you heard Solomon. “yeah, imagine what Devildom will be like without us here.” you said. “we’re finally going back! no more demons!” Luke cheered. the only demons he got along with were Barbatos and Beelzebub.

your eyes were still scanning through the place looking for that one demon. “hm, guessing from your expression, you must be looking for Lucifer.” you heard a voice behind you. turning around, you saw Diavolo standing. you nodded slightly. he’s near the stairs, talking to some demons.” you pursed your lip. you didn't want to interrupt him if he was having a conversation but you wanted to see him so badly. and you wanted to show off your outfit.

“MC! wanna go outside?” Asmodeus came up to you. you nodded. “can we walk past the stairs first?” you asked. “of course, dear!” he agreed so easily. the two of you walked past the stairs, and there a was, looking good in his demon form. he was talking to female demons, more laughing actually. in the past year you had been here, you had never seen him smile the way he did now. he looked so happy. and there it was, that piercing feeling in your heart.

you saw him glance at Asmo, but never lay his eyes on you. the demon beside you tugged you towards the entrance. once outside, you sighed. “how cold of him, he didn't even look at you.” Asmo whined. “all the effort I put in looking nice.” you sighed. “well you still look like a whole babe” asmodeus grinned and tried to brighten up your mood.

things weren't okay between you and Lucifer, especially since you were going back to the human world soon. he had been ignoring you since the past two days. despite your apologies, your efforts in making things right again, he was still ignoring you. 

all of this had happened because, just like usually he was stressed, there was no end to the piles of paper stacked on his desk. you respected his work, but his working hours were just... abnormal. and so you decided to give him a midnight snack and a nice cup of tea. he needed a break, just to relax and let all the tension go. sadly, your efforts had no effect on him as he ignored the snack and the tea.

by the time you woke up again to check on him it was 3AM. the food and his cup were left untouched. you rubbed your eyes to look again, “you aren't going to drink something?” you asked him. he kept looking at his paperwork, “no, go sleep in your own room.” he was stressed, you understood. but he never used this harsh tone on you. 

you blinked a few times, trying to process what happened. then you frowned “you dont want me here?” you asked quietly. he sighed and answered, “no, now get out and take the food with you.” you stared at him speechless but decided to do as he said. taking your phone, the food and the cup of tea, you headed back to your own room.

at breakfast, he didn't talk to you, heck, he didn't even look at you. everyone noticed the shift in his behaviour. after apologising for bothering him the nigh before, he still ignored you. 

sitting on your bed, you started thinking about taking your stuff out of his room. but in your head it sounded too dramatic, yet, you wanted him to know that his cold behaviour hurt you. until Asmo came barging into your room. “you have no idea who I just spotted at jewellery store!” your head snapped into the direction of his voice. “huh?” hoping he would repeat what he just said. “I saw Lucifer at the jewellery store! he was looking at some rings!” asmodeus started shaking you. 

his words only made you pinch the bridge of your nose. “please dont tell me this now.” you groaned. “aren't you supposed to be happy?” he asked. “if he’s looking at some rings, it doesn't mean that he’s going to propose or whatever.” asmodeus sighed at your words. “Lucifer would never look at rings. maybe that's why he has been acting so strange lately.” you only shook your head. “let it be, we never spoke about marriage anyway.” you shrugged making the demon in front of you gasp.

“Asmo, can you leave... im not in the mood to make up scenarios in my head.” the demon only frowned and patted your head before walking out of the door again. you laid back on your bed, covering your face. 

you looked at the floor and covered your face again. “I can't believe he’s still ignoring me..” asmodeus rubbed your back. “maybe if you try talking to him again?” he suggested. “maybe..” you breathed. asmodeus took your hands away from your face and wiped your tears away. “look, I didn't spend an hour doing your make up only to have you cry here again. so go get your man and show him how gorgeous you are, honey.” you sniffed and giggled at his words. 

the two of you walked back inside, only to find one of the women from before, leaning against Lucifer. you sighed and shook your head. your reaction made Asmodeus walk up to the lady and ask her for a dance and redirected Lucifer your way with a clear “go talk to your lovely MC.” Lucifer shrugged it off. 

he wasn't going to talk to you, so you had to make the first step. you walked over to him, “Lucifer, can we talk?” you gave him a side glance. he sighed “not here.” he murmured. “then where? you won't talk to me at home so..” you bit your lip and glared at him. 

lucifer dragged you off to a much quieter place. “what is so important to you that you and Asmodeus need to interrupt me?” he glared. “you really can't tell?” you asked and furrowed your eyebrows. he fell silent. “look I know you’re stressed and you dont want my help, but the way you've acting really made me question-” “dont give me this bullshit now.” he growled. “then what do you expect me to do? sniff the goddamn answer out of the air?” you blinked the tears away. 

“just say it.” “say what?” he asked. “just say how you really feel about me. so I won't be wasting my last weeks here being sad..” your voice cracked making Lucifer stared at you before speaking.

“I can't give you that answer here.” with that he turned around and walked off. 

[ardett]

all dead hearts to you

Description: George and Dream have never met in person. It isn’t a problem until Dream calls George to tell him he’s going to kill himself.

check this out on Ao3 if you wanna be cool!

Author’s Note: Not me crashing recklessly into another fandom (also this is assuming sapnap went home to Texas after living with dream idk let me live)

title from Dead Hearts by Stars

also I'm new here, anyone wanna give me a welcome to the boys?

warnings: suicide warning (obviously) but no actual suicide, general anxiety and panic attacks

It’s 3am when George gets Dream’s call. 

Late, but only really for him. It’s still before midnight in Florida, right around 10pm. He’d like to say that he’s so practiced with converting time zones that he doesn’t even have to think about it but he still has to count backwards on his fingers, thinking on the jump between late late nights and early mornings.

He’s still awake but the leds in his room have been turned to red, set to the dimmest mode. He was streaming with Quackity up until about half an hour ago and his room has settled back into quiet again.

He feels the thrum of anxiety as he hears the ringtone. Dream usually only calls him when George is about to sleep through something important or if he’s on the road. George wonders if he forgot something today or maybe he let something slip on his call with Quackity.

Now that it’s on his mind, he realizes that he hasn’t heard from Dream all day. Or yesterday?

They’ve both been busy, though George has been busy with the usual things and Dream said something about needing to put his affairs in order or whatever that meant. They usually text at least but even that has been quieter.

George grabs his phone off his desk and picks up the call.

“Dream. What’s up?” he asks. George runs a quick hand through his hair, checking his screen quickly. It’s a real phone call, not even a discord call. “Hey, I’m putting you on speaker. I’m gonna put on my pajamas.”

He’s about to set the phone on his dresser when Dream says, “Oh, I probably shouldn’t be on speaker.”

There’s something off in his tone. Something flat. It sets George’s nerves on edge. 

“Yeah? Okay.” George tucks the phone back by his ear, slumping back on his bed. “Did you have something you had to tell me?”

“Yeah. George, I’m going to kill myself.”

Everything in George stills.

And then starts to spin.

“What?”

“I’m going to—”

“You’re not serious.” George jerks upright, ignoring the lightheaded feeling sinking its fingers into his skull. “Dream, this isn’t funny.”

“I don’t think it is. It’s just going to happen.” 

There’s not even a tremor in Dream’s voice. George can’t feel anything past the bone deep shock in his system.

All he can think of is Dream, wrists bloody and split open. Dream, fingertips dusted white with the residue of unnamed pills. Dream, rope burns fracturing the long line of his neck. 

Dream, dead.

How is he even going to do it? Is he actually going to do it? George wants to ask but then he realizes he doesn’t want to know.

He imagines the first time he sees Dream in person is when he attends his funeral.

He imagines all the words he’s held in for so long, waiting and waiting for the moment he could say them to Dream face to face, finally being said to dead air.

But George can’t say that so all he manages is an obstinate, “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Stop disagreeing with me.”

“George,” Dream laughs. Laughs.

George feels dizzy with the disbelief swirling inside him. Surely this can’t be happening. What reason would Dream have to make this up though? Dream would never joke about something like this. Why is he laughing? 

How can Dream be so casual when George’s world is shattering? 

He doesn’t know what a future without Dream looks like.

They’ve always lived miles apart but Dream has never felt so far away. George has never felt like this. Like he couldn’t reach him.

“Dream.” Dream’s laugh cuts off as soon as he hears the plea in George’s voice. “Is something wrong? Are you— I can come there. I can be with you tomorrow. Sapnap can stay with you again. You don’t have to do this—”

“I know. But I want to. So I’m going to.” Any trace of mirth is gone. Dream sounds the same way he did when he decided he was going to break a world record or make YouTube work for him.

Determined. Steadfast. His voice has the steely confidence of knowing he won’t fail.

Usually it’s inspiring but now the familiarity of it just makes George sick. He’s never known Dream to be someone content with failure.

George's phone digs into his palm as his grip spasms. He tastes blood.

And he doesn’t even know why yet.

“What happened? Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

Dream sighs. “Nothing’s wrong, George.”

“There has to be something wrong. You can tell me,” George insists. Then he changes tactics and lies through his teeth. “I swear I won’t tell anyone else. We can work this out together, just the two of us. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I already told you nothing’s wrong,” Dream repeats.

“Then why would you… do that?” George trips over the word, rephrases it instead.

And then Dream rips that tiny defense to shreds.

“You can say it you know,” Dream says. “I’m going to kill myself. You should probably get used to it actually. People are going to ask you about it. I’m sorry about that,” he adds as an afterthought. 

The harsh, blunt words sting against George’s skin.

“Don’t apologize,” he strangles out. “Don’t apologize for that out of everything. Just don’t do it.”

“George,” Dream breathes, exasperated.

“I just don’t understand,” George begs. For the first time, his voice wavers.

Dream, cold gun in his cold hands. Dream, long limbs hanging over the railing of a bridge as he stares down. Dream, slumped over his table with a bottle of vodka nestled near his feet. 

Dream, dead.

Dead.

Dead.

“Don’t cry, okay?” Dream’s voice softens. George forgot how gentle Dream could be with him when he wanted. 

“I didn’t want to make you cry. Look, it’s just…” Dream trails off. Eventually, he continues even quieter. “This is it, you know? This is the top, this is the peak. It can’t go on like this forever, crazy numbers on videos and trending on twitter and all that shit. I’d rather go out like this than wait to hit the bottom. Doesn’t that make sense?” Dream persuades.

“No,” George insists, all the air leaving his lungs at once.

“Come on, George. Can you even picture yourself growing old? What happens when we’re 30, 40, and all of this is gone. Do you want that?”

The sick part of it all is that George has imagined the future. He imagines it lovingly, not viciously. Not like this.

He imagined a future with Sapnap and Bad and Karl and Quackity but most of all with Dream. He wants so badly to be with him. Sapnap talked about living together, how great parts of it had been, how he would have stayed if he hadn’t had to return home for family, and George so selfishly wants that for himself.

And he’s always known that’s not what Dream pictured. Dream doesn’t want what he wants. Dream doesn’t want to grow old with someone, much less George.

Can you even picture yourself growing old?

It hurts because George can and he always wanted it to be with Dream.

“What are you even saying? Do you want me to kill myself too?” George bites. He scrubs viciously at his eyes and stabs at the power button of his computer, teeth piercing into his lip as he waits for it to turn on.

“No, no, of course not. I would never— Come on, that’s obviously not what I’m saying.”

George fumbles with his keyboard, pulling up his discord messages with Sapnap.

He just needs someone else to help him, someone else to know. Someone who can do what he can’t. Someone who isn’t as fucking helpless as him, who doesn’t live an ocean away and who has never seen Dream in person and has never touched Dream, not once, has never known what the sun feels like in Florida.

Of course he was lying when he said this was going to stay between the two of them.

This isn’t the kind of thing he can do alone.

 George: Sapnap dream says hes going 

George: to kill himself

George: you have to get someone to him

George: call 999 

George: 911

 Sapnap: what

 George: please now sap Im on the phone with him

 Sapnap: are you joking

 George: no

George: do it

George: please fast now

 “Are you typing?” Dream questions, a note of warning in his tone.

George jerks. “No, I—”

He’s cut off by a beeping from his phone. 

His heart stops.

“What’s that sound?” Dream asks.

Sapnap is calling him.

George can picture him, knee jumping as he clutches his phone, hoping against hope that George is joking. He can practically hear the adrenaline trembling in Sapnap’s voice, can see the way Sapnap stands and paces.

He can’t answer though. He can’t leave Dream.

George declines the call, hand shaking.

“Who was that?” The question is flat.

“No one,” George says too quickly.

“No one?” Dream repeats. Only a second or two passes before George hears the same beep through his phone speaker, this time coming from Dream’s end. “Wow look who’s calling me. Sapnap. Wonder if he changed his name to No One,” Dream says without emotion.

 Sapnap: fck are you serious

 George bites his tongue, wincing.

“Dream—”

 George: y

 George can’t manage to type anything more before Dream snarls, “You’re such a fucking snitch, you know that? It’s fine though, I thought this might happen. I was gonna call him after you, for the record.” It almost sounds like Dream is smiling. George’s heart twists. Why is he smiling? “I know you have to try as a friend to save me, or whatever you want to call it, but you really don’t have to. I want to do this. I’m going to.

“It’s not like you could really stop me anyway,” Dream continues. “You don’t even know where I live. You barely know what I look like. What, are you going to ask the police to search the entire state of Florida?”

“Sapnap knows,” George whispers. 

He tries to shake off the savagery seeping into Dream’s voice. He tells himself Dream is defensive, Dream is nervous, Dream is scared. Dream isn’t thinking about what he’s really saying.

Though things have never mattered before, the fact George has never been to Florida, that George has never seen Dream in person. But now Dream is weaponizing them against him, forcing George to acknowledge that for everything their relationship is, it can never replace an in person friendship. And Dream has always been a better fighter than George.

“No, he doesn’t. Me and Sap rented a house, remember? We never went to my house. I never sent him my actual address, I checked.” And Dream sounds so smug. Like he won.

George’s gaze darts back to his computer. 

But he already knows Dream isn’t a liar.

 Sapnap: I dont know his address

Sapnap: fuck

Sapnap: Im calling bad

Sapnap: dont let him hang up

 “People are so dumb about it, you know? They tell all their friends and then they get caught before actually doing it,” Dream goes on, not paying attention to George’s disconsolate silence.

“But you’re telling me,” George mutters. Hopelessness strings through him.

Sapnap isn’t writing anything else. George can only hope Bad picked up.

“Yeah but you’re literally in another country. What are you going to do about it?” 

George can’t manage any words. He doesn’t even know if he remembers how to breathe. 

Dream is right, he always seems to be right. George just wishes it wasn’t about this. Anything but this. He has to believe that Sapnap and Bad will figure something out. He has to trust them.

“Just think about how many people are found before they actually do it,” Dream goes on in George’s quiet. “Because they can’t commit. Most people are cowards. It’s dumb honestly. Just do it or don’t.”

“Don’t then,” George whispers.

His eyes burn with unshed tears. His fingers spasm on his bedsheets.

He doesn’t know what Dream wants. Does he want George to beg? To get on his knees and plead with him to save his own life? Because he would in a heartbeat but he doubts it would make a difference. 

Dream sighs. “I feel like you’re not listening to me, George.”

“No, I am.” George’s voice rises with his wrath. Suddenly all his terror and frustration comes to a bursting point. “I’m listening. I’m listening to you talk about killing yourself. I just think you’re wrong. I think it would be a lot fucking braver to stay alive even if your views go down, even if you’re not fucking famous, Dream. What the fuck? You’re a fucking coward for trying to leave!” George’s breaths heave through the staticy phone microphone. His fear and anger wind him.

There’s a moment of emptiness.

Then, lip curling, Dream says, “Trying to leave you?”

George chokes.

“What?”

“Don’t try and pull this card, George. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it? I’m a coward for leaving everyone behind? For leaving you?” 

Dream’s voice drowns out George’s. George flinches, though Dream can’t see it. 

“Don’t be so fucking selfish. I hate that, you know that?” Dream growls. “Everyone thinks they’re enough to save someone all by themselves. Wow, the sheer force of your love just fucking yanked me back from the edge of a cliff, give me a fucking break,” Dream scoffs. George’s ribs feel tight. “You can’t just reverse psychology or guilt me out of this.”

“Jesus, Dream, is it so hard to believe that maybe I care about you and I don’t want you to fucking die?” George grits out. 

The room swims before him. He can’t remember how to uncurl his fingers.

“Well it’s not up to you, is it?” Dream practically smirks.

And that’s it, isn’t it? The winning phrase. Because Dream’s right. 

It’s not up to George. 

George can only listen helplessly as Dream considers his own grave. He’s a constant witness to the storm that is Dream. He was always grateful to be dragged along in Dream’s hurricane winds and now he dreads the day they calm.

“You’re being cruel,” George murmurs. His aggression leaves him as soon as it came.

“I’m being honest,” Dream contends.

George sinks his head into his hands. “Why did you even call me then? To— to gloat?”

Dream’s voice goes low and quiet, vulnerable. George’s insides twist and melt and contort. “No, no, I just… I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you one more time.”

“Don’t say that,” George hisses. The words are half muffled into his palms.

“Don’t say what?” Dream asks defensively.

“Don’t say one more time. You can’t— you can’t—'' It all hits George at once. He’s going to lose him.

He’s going to lose Dream.

Before he knows it, he’s sobbing into the phone, loud ugly heaving sobs. “Don’t do it, Dream. I’m serious. Please— Just wait for one of us to get there. We can be with you. We can help.”

Dream’s voice hardens again. “You mean you can stop me.”

“Dream—” George starts to beg, trying to figure out how to lie without Dream catching him.

But Dream beats him to it. 

“I’m gonna hang up now—”

Panic rips through George. The shock of it physically hurts in his veins, in his heart.

“No!” he almost screams. “Dream, Dream, don’t hang up—”

“Oh my god, relax. I’m calling Sapnap. I’m not doing anything yet.” He can almost hear Dream rolling his eyes. It’s not comforting.

George sniffles. He knows it sounds pathetic. He’s not one for pity but if it gets Dream to keep talking with him, he’s willing to stoop to any low. He just doesn’t know if he can believe Dream.

“Can’t you just… stay on the phone with me?” 

“What, forever? Is that your plan? Just keep me on the line until someone inevitably finds me somehow?” Dream mocks.

Yes.

“No,” George says instead because he thinks it’s what Dream wants to hear.

Dream switches tactics. George recognizes the persuasion in his tone. 

“Don’t you want me to call Sapnap? Shouldn’t he also get the chance to talk with me?” Dream questions.

Guilts rests against George’s ribs. 

Of course he wants Sapnap to get the chance to talk to Dream. What if this is their last chance to talk? But George is too selfish to think about it much.

“That’s not what you’re asking me. Don’t try and pull that shit. You’re asking me to hang up. You’re asking for me to say goodbye and I’m…” George’s voice drops, almost inaudible. “I’m not ready.”

“George…” Dream’s voice trails off. His next words are nearly silent, something bitter and mournful about them. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” George mumbles.

“Are you gonna say it back to me?” Dream demands. George doesn’t know what holds him back now but something does.

“You know I do, Dream, why—”

The dial tone rings in George’s ears.

Dream hung up.

-

Not even 30 seconds pass, not nearly enough for the abrupt end of their call to sink in, when George’s phone is ringing again. He fumbles with his screen but manages to pick up.

“George?”

George’s heart sinks. It’s not the voice he wants to hear. That he needs to hear.

“Bad?”

“Yeah,” Bad affirms. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Am I—” George scoffs and it feels like it rips his throat. He feels like he wants to scream. Like he wants to punch a wall. Like he would give anything to be somewhere warmer right now. “No, I’m obviously not okay, Bad. He’s going to— to—”

“I know. Sapnap told me.” 

Bad’s voice is collected, even. It just makes George more frustrated. How can everyone be so fucking calm about this? 

“George, just try to take some deep breaths, okay?” George ignores the suggestion. “Sapnap is on the phone with Dream. He just hung up on me to talk to him. I’m driving there right now, okay?”

George pauses. Something cold washes over him. He doesn’t know yet if it’s relief.

“You’re— you’re driving to Dream?”

“Yes,” Bad affirms. “We just have to keep him talking to someone for the next hour—”

“Hour? Are you serious? That’s too long!” George knows he’s screaming now. He doesn’t care.

“George—”

“We have to call an ambulance, the police. There has to be someone we can call.” 

George squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think of other ways they could possibly get there in time. He comes up blank. He can’t accept it. He can’t.

Dream, alone. Dream, bereft. Dream, dead.

“I know but I can’t— I was trying to tell you.” Bad’s words are muffled. It sounds like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. He confesses, “I don’t know his exact address. Sapnap is going to try and get it while he talks to him. I’m driving to Orlando and hopefully Sap knows it by the time I get there but we’re just—”

“No, no, no—”

George thinks of Bad arriving just in time to find Dream’s body still warm. He’s going to be sick. His chest hurts. His lungs burn.

“Try and take some deep breaths—” Bad placates as George speaks over him.

“I’m never going to talk to him again. He’s going to kill himself.” George is spiraling. He can’t stop himself.

“George, I’m going to get there in time.” But Bad doesn’t sound sure of himself. George zeros in on the weakness.

“You don’t know that,” George hisses.

“This is hard for all of us, George!” George startles at Bad’s yell. He’s heard Bad raise his voice before but never at him, never seriously. “I’m sorry,” Bad apologizes, words quieting again. George hears a sniffle through the phone. 

Bad’s crying. 

God, George is a terrible person. He didn’t even think to check in on Bad. Bad’s the one who might find Dream halfway there or already committed. He’s the only one who’s even close to being able to do something and maybe that’s the worst position to be in.

To be so close and lose a friend anyway.

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I know it’s hard for all of us. I know you’re doing everything you can. You’re doing more than me.” George tries to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat. It’s not funny anyway.

“It’s going to be okay,” but it doesn’t even sound like Bad believes himself.

“I don’t think I can talk about this anymore,” George murmurs. He feels exhausted. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through him that it hurts. “Can we just talk about something else just… just for a little?” he begs. Like anything could distract him from this.

“Yeah George.” George can hear the sympathy in Bad’s voice. He’s too far gone for the pity to bother him. “Let me— Let me tell you about what I did this weekend on the SMP.”

George sucks in a sharp inhale. “Not— not the SMP. Can you talk about something else?” 

“Of course,” Bad agrees easily. “So last Friday I went to visit my family…”

George lets Bad talk in the background. Every once in a while, one of them will sniffle or sob or take a breath that’s too shaky to be normal. Neither of them mentions it.

George listens to people walk past his window, their voices carrying up into the stars.

The noises of the highway drone on through his phone.

Bad drives.

-

George thinks about what it would be like to go on without Dream.

He’ll never be the same, he already knows. It will haunt him for years. For the rest of his life. The thought of being so close to someone and then losing them.

Death is natural. He knows that. But it’s the intentionality of it that aches the most. The idea that Dream would leave behind everything for something so painful and unknown.

And George just knows… part of him will die with Dream and never come back. 

George doesn’t know who he’ll be with that part missing.

part 1/3, though the next update won’t really be an update but it will be soon

[bauwrites]

i think of you in every quiet moment

summary: i think the title sums it up pretty well. when he’s not distracted, spencer is thinking of the reader who he was, or still is, in love with but is no longer with. on the jet home after a case, he realises how all of his silences are consumed by memories of her.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader/female oc (there’s no y/n in there but reference to a female character)

words: 1,469

a/n : i saw this post on my feed and it gave me an idea so here we go. i know it’s fairly short but it’s my first time writing something for a long time so please cut me a little bit of slack. but i hope you enjoy it!

-

the worn page of the book began to feel heavy in his hand. spencer was supposed to turn it a while ago but his mind had gone elsewhere. normally he was capable of reading 20,000 words a minute yet he’d spent the last few minutes reading the last seven words over and over again, unable to move past them. much like he was unable to move past the last conversation he shared with her. his once useful eidetic memory had become his hamartia, leaving the image of her face as tears carved valleys into her cheeks etched permanently into his mind. she’d pleaded with him to not leave as he stood in the doorway. she knew as well as he did that if he closed the door of her apartment, it would also close the door on their relationship. neither of them wanted it but spencer knew it was the only way to keep her safe. as long as they were together, she was constantly at risk. to an unsub, she was nothing more than a pawn to use against spencer and that was a game of chess that he wasn’t willing to play.

a lump formed in his throat at the memory and he dropped the page he was holding. the words on the faded paper were the last thing on his mind now. the only noise in the jet were the soft sounds of his coworkers snoring as they got some much needed rest. spencer was confronted with a memory of her sleeping against him as he read on her couch. in spencer’s opinion, falling asleep around someone was a true show of trust. while you were asleep, you were completely vulnerable to the people around you. it was the first time she’d done it and that was the moment spencer realised how comfortable around him she was. for the first time in a long time, he willingly squeezed his eyes shut. for a moment, he thought he could feel her head on his shoulder, the slight movements of her body as her breathing caused her chest to rise and fall. spencer knew his mind was simply tricking him but he could have sworn that just for a second, he could smell the sweet coconut notes of her shampoo. but when his eyes opened again, she wasn’t there. and she never would be again.

-

back in his apartment, spencer was forcing himself to make some food. it had been a long day and he couldn’t really remember the last time he’d eaten. regardless, he was hungry and he knew he should eat before he settled down to a restless night. his apartment was quiet now with nobody else to share it with. admittedly, he hated coming back to an empty apartment. after a long or tough case, it had quickly become his favourite thing to come home and find her waiting there for him. she always did everything that she could to make him comfortable, to distract him from the violence and brutality that he witnessed in his job. his bed would be made with his pyjamas laid out for him, the smell of food would be wafting from the kitchen along with her soft voice as she hummed along to whatever record she’d chosen to play. she was like a siren, as soon as he heard her voice he was lost under he spell. spencer would meet her in the kitchen, stepping up behind her and wordlessly wrapping his arms around her waist. sometimes all it took for him to feel better was to hold her, no words needed. his head would find it’s home in the crook of her neck, letting her overwhelm his senses. what he would do to hold her once more. she’d turn around and give him a smile that would make angels cry. she was observant and when she noticed a tiredness in his eyes, not once would she ask him about his day. the last thing she wanted to do was to force him to relive it so instead, she would begin rambling about her own day. if he wanted to talk, he could but she would never force him to and he was always happy to listen to her talk for hours without interjecting. spencer was cruelly torn from the fond memory to the smell of burning. he’d been so distracted that he’d neglected the pan on the stove in front of him and this was its revenge against him.

-

there was a box of records in the corner of spencer’s living room. they’d been ignored for a while now, the last time they were touched was by her. he could see her sat cross-legged on the floor, the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth as her fingers gently caressed each record while she decided which one to play. she made it seem like the hardest decision in the world and spencer always found it particularly amusing, yet the stretched out deliberation seemed to work since she always chose the right one. spencer moved as if he was on autopilot, his body directing him before his mind had chance to intervene. before he knew it, he was sat on the spot where she should be and brushing the layer of dust from the box. it didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for. her favourite record, the one that she went back to time and time again. the cover was worn from being handled so often and it was near the front so she could easily find it. he slid the black plastic from its sleeve with an almost surgical precision, carefully placing it onto his record player and manoeuvring the needle to its rightful place. the song started immediately and spencer could feel her taking his hand, her small fingers eclipsed by his as she pulled him to the centre of the room. she placed his hands on her waist, draping hers over his shoulders as she swayed from side to side. once he gained more confidence, spencer took the lead and began to guide her. much to her appreciation, he spun her around before pulling her back into him even closer than before and a giggle would fall from her lips. it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, one that he hoped to never forget. moments like that were such a contrast to his fast paced, high intensity life. she always gave him a reprieve. by the time the song finished, his eyes were stinging as tears threatened to spill from them. if he was a weaker man, he would’ve called her then and begged her to forgive him. to take him back. but he knew he had to be strong for her.

-

finally, spencer was in his bed. the clock on his bedside table told him it was almost 3am and he knew he wouldn’t be asleep yet for a while. it felt colder than usual, emptier even. he’d gotten so used to the weight of her body on the mattress beside him and now he was alone in a bed so clearly made for two. it was cruel that his mind had began to betray him like this every time he experienced even a second of silence. tonight was the kind of night where he would struggle to fall asleep and if he did manage to drift off, he’d be woken up soon after from a nightmare invading his peace. she would always be there for him. comforting him as soon as his eyes opened, as if she knew exactly when he would wake up. no matter how tired she was or how early she had to be up the next morning, she would stay awake with him until she knew he was asleep once more. spencer thought she must have been sick of it but it never seemed to bother her, she seemed happy to do it. she once told him that she was willing to share the weight of his pain because nobody should have to carry that on their own. she promised him that she didn't mind, that if it meant it brought him some relief then that was all that mattered to her. how had spencer let someone like that go? someone who wasn’t afraid of his darkness but embraced it and was willing to let some of that darkness seep into their light. someone who was patient and gentle, even when his temper wore thin and he would become irritable. he sighed to himself as he stared at the ceiling. by now, he had realised that as long as the two of them were apart this would never end. he would think of her in every quiet moment.

[kunderdogs]

Jay Park & Simon D / Birth

Decided to combine two requests into one!

They’re kind of long (oops). I have given birth before and have friends with kids so this was kinda fun lol. Imagining these two with their gfs and children is soooooo stinkin cute! Jay if you see this, please have a baby ‘cause I’m sure it’d be so adorable UWU

Jay:

Once you go into labor, Jay is in full blown panic

This is his first kid so he doesn’t understand that once the water breaks, it could take hours or some times days for you to give birth

He’s helping you into the car to go to the hospital

Calling literally everyone in his family and yours

“Her water broke! Yeah, we’re five minutes from the hospital! Go to the birth center!”

When he notices you in pain, he’ll calm down and try to be level headed but he doesn’t really know how to comfort you other than give you encouraging words

Thankfully the nurses tell him that he can push on your back when you have a contraction to help you

By your side the whole time

Ties your hair up for you

"You’re doing so well, baby! You got this! If anyone can push this baby out, it’s you. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Not much help when you begin pushing

He’ll be frozen most the time

Yelping when you dig your nails in his hand

Does his best not to make much noise ‘cause this isn’t about him

When you finally give the last push, he’s by your side but once he hears a cry, its over

He’s crying before he even sees his daughter while you’re on the verge of passing tf out

You have to push him away to go check on her while the nurses clean her up and then they’re handing her to you

Jay is full on bawling at this point, can’t even see her right at first because his tears are overflowing

He’ll get himself together and when he notices you’re looking at your daughter so tenderly, he’s a mess again

Smiling so big when you ask him if he wants to hold her

Absolutely fucking terrified at fist but so so excited

“She’s so tiny...Oh wow *sobs* she looks like you, babe. My daughter.”

Doesn’t want to let her go once he has her

Refuses to let her leave his sight

The doctors are trying to check her vision and Jay will be so offended when they take her from him

The only other person he’ll willingly give her to is you but even then he’ll ask for her back when you're done feeding her

“Hey, she’s my kid too! You have to share her, Jay!”

“NEVER.”

Glares when the doctors give her the vaccinations and she lets out a lil cry

Tears up when she cries tbh

So protective it’s almost annoying if it wasn’t so cute

Over all just so happy, doesn’t get much sleep because he doesn’t want to miss anything

Takes pictures of every moment, from in the hospital to the first car ride home

Falls asleep next to her bassinet every night

Spends a whole month making a song for her

Announces you give birth by posting a pic of her tiny feet on his Insta

Simon D:

Takes him a little bit to process that you just told him your water broke

Is usually calm and collected

This is no different 

Internally, he’s full blown panic mode

Scrambles to get the baby bag while you get dressed

He’s helping you in the car and going through the check list out loud to make sure he didn’t forget anything

He’ll call your parents on the way there and his to make sure they’re aware

Coaching you through the breathing techniques

Probably breaking a few traffic laws to get there in record time

You’ll start to see him actually freak tf out when you say you have to push and you’re not even at the ER yet

“Can you, not? Tell him to wait!”

“Kiseok, what the fuck, I can’t just not push!”

Doesn’t understand that your body is gonna do wtf it needs to do, whether you’re there or not

Whimpers when you grab his hand and nearly crush his fingers during a painful contraction

Is going to carry you into the ER his damn self, yelling at the reception to get a fuckin doctor out there NOW

Nurses rush out to see wtf is going on and then frantically bring a wheel chair to him

He won’t let go of you even as he puts you in the chair and your contractions are too painful to concentrate on much else

He’s incredibly worried as the nurses rush you to a room

They’ll ask him questions and he’ll try to respond but once he tells them you were already pushing, he gets pushed off to the side

Understands that he’s in the way if he goes past your waist so he won’t move from your shoulder

Holds your hand and strokes your hair back, leaning over so you can hear him

Mumbling words of endearment in your ear, “You’re doing amazing, baby. Just breathe. There you go. If you have to push, just do it okay?”

The adrenaline is high rn even if it’s 3am and he’s been up for almost 24 hours

Grunting when you nearly break his hand but he’s not going to outwardly show his pain

(His hand is not his main concern rn. It could be broken for all he cares)

After what feels like a life time, the doctors tell you to give it your all and they gently grab your son when you push one last time

You’re so exhausted but feel Kiseok kiss your head, telling you he looks prefect

Trying to keep himself together because he knows you’ll need that support

Once your son is placed on your chest and you start crying, he’ll break down

Hands trembling when he brushes his son’s hair back and gives him a kiss on his head

So soft and tender

Marvels at how big his hand is compared to his body

Wraps his arm around your shoulder and cries into your shoulder, thanking you for giving him such a blessing

Wants to hold him but is scared so for now, he’s content with watching you coo at the tiny baby

Takes a lot of candids with his phone

Very quiet for the most part

Just in awe that he helped create such a beautiful child

Thinks he’s never seen you as happy as you are right now and that’s amazing for him

He’ll cry a lot these next few weeks

When you get home, you’ll catch Kiseok staring at him with a smile on his face

Or hear his voice speaking to him about everything and anything 

“I love you so much. My son. Wow...you’re so cute.”

[thiievesguild]

saw this stupid fuckin tweet at 3am like a week ago and it immediately gripped me and would not let my ass go until i wrote it, except the original premise kind of took a backseat. bonus bed sharing and a frustrating amount of mutual pining

martin/m!hok, 2,770 words, tw for semi-graphic injury

ao3 mirror

They were all exhausted. The Crisis was pushing everyone at Cloud Ruler Temple to their limits - every day Martin watched Blades return from the world outside those walls with haunted looks and fresh scars of both mind and body, only to be sent back out with just a few days' rest to do it all again; every day he poured over the Mysterium Xarxes till he could hardly even keep his eyes open long enough to drag himself to bed and hope he'd exhausted himself enough not to dream of the night that started it all or the horrors in the pages of that awful book; every day he worried himself sick over the knight somewhere beyond those doors on the front lines of it all, wondering what sort of news he'd bring or what stories he'd have to tell if he even managed to make it back at all. This was no way to live. Martin knew that. But there was no other way to live, short of laying down and accepting all of Tamriel's fate at Mehrunes Dagon's hands. So they endured.

        And yet, despite it all, when that knight finally did drag himself back, world-weary and battered and looking about ready to buckle under the pressure like he carried all of Nirn itself on his back, there was a shine in his eyes when he finally laid his sights on Martin like he hadn't known a single trouble in his life.

        "Emrys." The heaps of research materials and parchment scattered on one of the great hall's many wooden tables lay forgotten as Martin practically jumped to greet him at the door; the knight met him halfway, carefully dropping the heavy saddlebag he carried against one of the hall's wooden posts that he found himself bracing his weight against.

    "You're a sight for sore eyes," Emrys breathed, flashing a weak and tired smile. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

    He was not the one who should have been asking that question - his face had lost its color, the sickly pallor only making the bags under his eyes more pronounced, and he swayed on his feet, practically needing that post just to stay upright. He looked almost worse than he had in Kvatch, which was a feat in and of itself. Martin's brows furrowed deeply.

    "I have," he replied distractedly, not so much the truth but not his first concern as he reached up to touch the back of his hand to the other's forehead. "You're clammy. Do you feel ill?"

    Emrys shook his head. "I'm just tired. It's been a long past couple of days. I haven't been sleeping well."

    But it seemed to take a great effort just to get the words out and his voice alone spoke volumes of a profound weariness that went well beyond not sleeping well. "This isn't just sleep deprivation, Emrys, you look like you're about to collapse any minute."

    "It's just magicka fatigue, that's all," he insisted stubbornly. "I had a little trouble on the way up here but I'm alright."

    Martin frowned. "What sort of trouble?"

    "Mythic Dawn ambush on the road from Chorrol this morning. Nothing I couldn't handle. I'm alright," he repeated, "really."

    "Hmm." He wasn't alright, no matter how well he handled the ambush, but nitpicking it wasn't going to get them anywhere - the fact of the matter was, what he needed was rest. "Come on, let's get you out of that armor. You can take my bed."

    When the knight took his weight off the beam he swayed again, and Martin instinctively reached out to steady him, even knowing he was quite a bit heavier than the priest could probably handle on his own if he did collapse fully. But Emrys' balance stayed true all the way to the emperor's quarters, where Martin would have him rest so he could get at least some modicum of privacy more than the general sleeping quarters below.

    Getting the heavy steel plate armor on was one thing, but Emrys was more than capable of getting it off by himself, and he set to work on it as Martin slid the door closed behind them, settling on the edge of the bed and fumbling with the laces of his greaves.

    It was slower work than usual as Emrys took his time with each of the pieces of armor, exhaustion really settling in and making usually simple laces and buckles something of a chore; but he seemed dead set on taking care of himself, so for as much as Martin would have liked to take it upon himself to help, hovering nervously at first, he only took each piece as it came off and laid them out neatly on the table at the edge of the room.

    As the priest laid down the vambraces, Emrys winced, hissing in pain, and Martin frowned over his shoulder back at him, watching him fumble with a buckle at the side of his cuirass.

    "Are you hurt?"

    "A little sore, that's all." He tried again with the buckle, taking great pains to move a little more carefully now. "One of those damn cultists caught the mail under my arm, managed to cut through it. Not sure how." The buckle he was working at popped loose finally, and he flinched only slightly before moving down to the next. "It wasn't serious, though, you don't need to give me that look about it. I already closed it up."

    That would explain the magicka fatigue, then. If he was already pushing his limits when he first tried to heal himself, the wound probably still needed more attention than what he'd been able to give it. Martin sighed, crossing the room to where Emrys sat on the edge of the bed.

    "Let me see."

    Emrys finished the last buckle and moved his hand away, lifting his arm just enough to let Martin take a look. Sure enough, the mail that covered the gap in his cuirass under his right arm had a ragged slice taken right through it, the remaining links covered in dark blood.

    "You'll have to get this fixed before you head out again," Martin remarked idly, reaching out to gently feel at the damage to the mail and the doublet underneath, and nearly jumped out of his skin when his hand came away wet. "Emrys!"

    The knight looked just as surprised to look down and see Martin's hand covered in his blood, stark red and fresh, and he might have even blanched if his face wasn't so drained of color to begin with.

    "Oh."

    Martin swore under his breath, stepping away only to wipe his hand off haphazardly with the rag by his washbasin before turning back to hurriedly finish pulling off the rest of the cuirass. The knight had already begun working at the buckles on the other side of his torso, but his hands fumbled so badly that by the time Martin had the shoulders unbuckled and unlaced, Emrys was still struggling with the first on his side and he could only drop his hands and let the other work.

    The pieces of the cuirass were discarded with much less scrutiny than the rest of the armor, Martin far more concerned with getting him out of the doublet underneath; the black fabric hid the massive patch of blood that it had soaked up, but it was wet and clung stubbornly to Emrys' ribs and the shirt underneath even as they worked to peel it away. His undershirt, on the other hand, was stained so thoroughly, fresh blood saturated over what had already dried, that it might not even have been salvageable.

    "How did you not notice this?" Martin breathed, disbelief profound. He did his damnedest to help the other pull the shirt over his head without too much pain, but even his most careful wasn't enough to keep Emrys from hissing in agony, barely stifling a cry from between clenched teeth.

    "Tired," was all he said.

    Martin sighed.

    With Emrys' armor and clothing out of the way, the worst of it was mostly over. There was still too much blood, both fresh and old, caked to Emrys' skin for Martin to really get a good look at the extent of the angry cut across his ribcage; the priest passed a healing spell over the wound just long enough to get the bleeding to stop, before taking to the mess with the washbasin and rag, and to his great relief it didn't look so bad at all once all the blood was more or less cleaned away.

    "It looks like it just re-opened itself somewhere on the road," Martin observed, settling in finally to take his magic to it properly, kneeling at the edge of the bed and working his golden glowing palm over the gash; after a few moments, Emrys' frame began to relax tangibly, the ache of it slowly soothing away. "You really ought to be more careful when you know you can't heal yourself any more than this."

    "It wasn't that serious," Emrys insisted lamely. Martin frowned.

    "You could barely keep yourself on your feet when you got back here," he reminded pointedly. "You're very lucky you didn't take any more time on the ride up here than you did or you might have lost enough blood that you didn't make it back at all. What would you have done if you were caught in another ambush or ran into any other trouble after this?" There was no real edge or genuine harshness to his voice, though, even as he chided - only deep, heartfelt worry he couldn't help over all the what-ifs. Martin's brows furrowed as he kept his attention focused intently on the wound under his fingertips.

    When Emrys said nothing, Martin shot a glance up to him - for the briefest of moments their eyes met, but almost as quickly as they did Emrys tore his gaze away, settling an unreadable expression on something across the room with a hard frown before Martin could make heads or tails of what sort of a look the other had been fixing him in the first place. And yet somehow, something about it made his heart stick in his throat.

    He turned quickly back to the task at hand, fixing all his concentration on healing the other like it would make him forget the fact that he quite suddenly couldn't find the words to continue. There were maybe a thousand different things Martin would have liked to say, but every time he thought he might open his mouth his mind only drew up blank. So they sat in the heavy silence between them for a while longer instead.

    It wasn't long before Martin's magicka finally began to dwindle, but by then there was little more he could do move the process along anyways, and he dropped his hand at last to scrutinize his handiwork.

    "It's going to scar," he observed aloud, almost idly ghosting his hand against the skin underneath it. It looked now more like it had happened several weeks ago, perhaps even months at this point, rather than just a few hours before - an angry red line jagged and harsh across Emrys' broad ribcage, clearly one that'd had some trouble closing up and hardly neat or pretty by any means, something that wouldn't go away as it finished the rest on its own. But certainly far better than how Martin had found it, and all things considered an unseemly scar was a small price to pay compared to the alternatives. "It's not going to be pretty."

    Somewhere along the way, Emrys had closed his eyes, and he looked so peaceful despite it all Martin could have almost believed he was sleeping if it weren't for the small smile he cracked at that. "Wouldn't be my first." As Martin pulled himself to his feet, Emrys took a slow, deep breath, almost like he was testing the waters, before lifting his arm and rolling his shoulder; he stopped short halfway through with a wince, though, sucking in a sharp hiss of pain through clenched teeth. Martin's hand jumped out instinctively to ease the other's arm down.

    "And it's going to be sore for a few more days," he added pointedly, as if Emrys hadn't just figured that out for himself. "I do hope you were planning on staying here for a while to get some rest, because I won't send you back out like this."

    Emrys laughed weakly, giving a slow nod and cracking his eyes up at Martin. "No, you're right - rest does sound nice," he agreed.

    Some of the color had begun to return to his cheeks, which told Martin that his restoration magic had done its job in more than just closing the wound; the bags under his eyes were still heavy and dark, though, and the profound weariness that seemed to seep into his features went beyond anything a healing spell or a good night's rest could fix. And yet still, his green eyes managed to glint brightly under the weight of it all like just looking up at Martin in that moment made all of it okay.

    "Right, um- rest." It was Emrys that finally flustered after too long a moment and looked away, nervously reaching back to unfetter his hair as if just for the sake of giving him something to do with his hands, and Martin quickly stepped back and began tending to the clutter that they'd left in their haste. "I know you're busy with your research, too, I'm sorry for keeping you."

    "Nonsense. I'm only thankful I could get you taken care of." He considered it for a moment. "Besides, I think it's about time I step away from it all for a while. I'll probably join you before long."

    "Okay."

    There was the rustling of sheets behind him as he finished laying out the rest of the armor that had been abandoned for more pressing matters, and as Emrys settled into the bed he gave a sigh of profound relief as he was finally able to truly relax.

    Most of what was left could wait till morning - there was no way in hell Martin was going to try to tackle any of the blood-soaked garments just then - and he moved around the room as quietly as he could at least organizing it all, slipping out briefly just to handle the dirty washbasin and its pitcher. It wasn't late by any means, but the shortened days of early winter meant the sun was already nearly swallowed by the horizon, such that once he returned and snuffed out the last of the candles in the room, the emperor's quarters were almost entirely dark.

    After changing quietly into clothes more suitable for sleeping, Martin slipped carefully into the empty side of the spacious bed, the knight beside him stirring only briefly, and when he finally settled in the silence around them gave his mind room to wander. He rolled his head to look at Emrys as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the other already fast asleep now that the sleep deprivation had finally caught up with him after everything else. It troubled Martin still how reckless Emrys had been, and not for the first time he was staring down the reality that any day now Emrys could leave Cloud Ruler Temple for the last time, and none of them would know it until it was entirely too late. The thought made his stomach churn.

    "Emrys?" He asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper as he just tested the waters, hoping perhaps foolishly he'd been wrong and the other was still awake. Only silence answered. And yet, some part of him made him continue anyways, wouldn't let him rest until he did, heard by anyone else or not. "I just... worry desperately about you while you're out there. I know you want to put the cause above your own wellbeing, but you're important in all this. I just want you to take care of yourself - if not for all of Tamriel's sake, then for mine. I... you're very dear to me, and I couldn't do this without you."

    It was the closest he could get to saying the honest truth aloud, even when he knew he had no captive audience but himself. Beside him, Emrys slept soundly, every word of it unheard and lost to the dark, and Martin sighed, rolling over onto his side and resolving to finally try and get some rest. It was nothing, after all, that couldn't wait until the morning.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hello darling, I've got a HC request for you

Okay so I was thinking about some “jealousy” headcanons. Arthur had always been afraid of loosing you. When the two of you were out together- he had seen the men of Gotham gawking at such a beauty like yourself. Maybe he had kept it for himself, not wanting to make a fuss. With Joker now that didn’t change, BUT it actually started to happen the other way around, too. Women were starting to notice this utterly handsome, sexy, beautiful man in that red suit and you didn’t know how to handle it. You’re feeling not good enough and start to worry he might leave you. He would make sure he’s not going anywhere obviously.

I love this idea so much omgggg!!! It’s definitely true kksksksksk I’d be super jealous of anyone tryna get his attention like no he’s mine get your own clown.

Also, I’ve already written jealousy HC’s for Arthur/Joker so for this one, I’m focusing more on the reader being jealous! I hope you don’t mind x

Warning for swearing.

You didn’t mean for Joker to find out that you were jealous. You didn’t. 

But you had made one too many snide remarks across the course of a single night when you were already feeling vulnerable and Joker, his ears and eyes always trained on you, picked them up.

It didn’t take long for him to assemble the puzzle; it never did when it came to you. He knew you so well it was almost a fault.

“Quick, look! It’s Joker!” Hushed whispers from men and women - you heard most of them -  surrounded you as you and Joker walked through Gotham’s grimy streets, simply spending time together like a ‘normal’ couple, and you bit down on your tongue, clench your fists,

“Get your eyes off him, bitch. He’s mine,” You murmured, keeping your face turned away from Joker, but you were still heard by the clown.

Joker would grin smugly to himself but he wouldn’t address what you were saying.

“Oh, he’s so handsome! Do you think he’d tell me a joke?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll give you what you deserve.” 

People were shameless in public spaces. Could they not see you walking hand in hand with Joker, your arms swinging in the space between your bodies?

Joker caught the glare which you directed towards the man who had spoken and it was at the slightly glassy look in your eyes that he began to wonder if perhaps there was more to what you were saying.

So he started watching you. Listening to you. Studying you the way you so often studied him.

it was when you slipped your hand out of his that Joker knew that something was behind all of your sassy comments. He always enjoyed your sarcasm, but he was now definitely aware that there was more to what you were saying.

“The way he escaped Arkham was so clever! I’d love to know how his mind works.”

You scoffed. You had been the brains behind the operation. Not Joker. You. Joker frowned and reached out to take your hand in his again, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the web of your hand. 

You resisted the urge to rip your hand out of his. Joker wasn’t the one at fault here and you refused to act on your insecurities and anxieties. 

Of course, you weren’t at fault, either, for you were well within your rights to feel as you did. You just wouldn’t act on them. The distinction was important, though it had taken you a long time to really understand it.

Had the situation been reversed, you knew that Joker would be feeling much the same way as you were, though he very definitely would have made it known by now. You, at least, possessed a little more tact.

As the two of you approached those stairs, Joker caught sight of your face. Whatever he saw in your eyes made him frown and he stopped dead, breathing evenly for a few seconds while you stood there just watching him, taking him in.

His perfectly jagged, imperfect makeup. Those dark blue triangles which enunciated the green of his eyes. That red, untamed smile which was painted on his face and created a living mask for Joker’s real lips were down turned into a frown.

“Do you want to tell me about it, Y/N?”

You went to shake your head, but there was something dark in Joker’s eyes, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. In any case, you had a feeling that he wouldn’t let you get away with not telling him.

You were right.

“Doll.” A warning statement. You would tell him. 

You sighed, shook your head. You really didn’t want to have this conversation, but you knew that if you didn’t tell him, then Joker would jump to conclusions.

You didn’t trust him, you didn’t need him, you didn’t want him… His insecurities and neuroses would resurface and worsen, all the things you said but all the things you omitted playing over and over again in his head like a broken record…

It was best to simply lay all your cards on the table and then go from there. Communication was important in any relationship, but especially in one with such a person as Arthur.

For that was who the man before you was - Arthur. Your Arthur and you had always told him anything, no matter how difficult it was for you.

“Ugh, fine - “ Joker grinned triumphantly but you ignored it and pushed forward, eager to just say it and get everything out in the open. You knew he was going to laugh. He would think you were joking. But then when he realised you weren’t, well… that was where you were unsure of his reaction, even after all this time together. He was an unpredictable man, your Joker.

“I’m jealous, okay? All these people looking at you, saying these things now that you’re Joker and I’m scared you’re gonna fall out of love with me and go and find someone else.” You sighed, the sound saturated with unshed tears, and turned away from Joker, unable to look at him.

He was going to laugh at you, you knew he was.

He didn’t.

There was painful silence for long, tense seconds which were marked only by the fierce pounding of your heart, and then there was a gentle hand under your chin, directing your gaze towards him.

The seriousness in Joker’s face and the lack of even the slightest of humour in his face brought you up short, and those tears which you had suddenly found yourself fighting poured down your cheeks.

His green eyes were locked on yours and every time you looked away did his eyes follow; you would look at him in the eyes.

Joker’s hand slid up your face, cupping your cheek, and he moved his other hand to do the same, his calloused thumbs soothing away your tears, the softest most gentle of smiles on his face. He looked so much like his real self at this moment that it only made you cry harder, and he cooed sympathetically.

“Y/N.” All the weight of his love for you was in your name and you closed your eyes against it. 

Joker’s grip tightened just enough to make you open them, and the raw intensity of his gaze stole your breath from your lungs.

“Who got me out of the fridge at 3AM when I couldn’t sleep?”

You shuddered to think of that time but you answered him anyway. “I did.”

Joker nodded in encouragement, eager now to get his point across. “Mm-hm,” His smile faded as quickly as it came, though. “And who helped me with my comedy?”

“I did.” You smiled to think of all those shared moments of laughter, of all those dark jokes which he spent hours thinking of while you were away at work, or busy with school. 

Another hum, Joker’s grin widening now as he saw that you were beginning to understand. “And who learned my make-up routine in secret and surprised me with it on Valentine’s Day? And who got together an outfit which looks just like mine - “ Joker tugged on the hem of his blazer pointedly “ - Just so they felt me around them when I wasn’t? And who stayed by my side through it all? And who - “ Joker’s words tumbled past his lips faster and faster as he desperately tried to make his point.

Those tears had stopped falling and there was something building in your chest, some immense kind of pride as you realised all at once what Joker was saying to you. 

It was all you.

“Me. I did all those things.” You could both hear the pride and love in your voice and it made Joker laugh as he realised that you understood, now. 

He didn’t think any less of you for this vulnerable moment, for if the situation had been reversed, he also would have been going through what you were now. 

“Exactly. Everyone is awful these days, but not you. You’re the only good thing in this city, Y/N. How could I ever leave the one who holds my heart in their hands for someone who only appreciates me now that I’m Joker? They. Don’t. See me. They don’t know me. They don’t love me. But you do. You do. Y/N, I - “ 

Joker’s green oceans overflowed with love and a single tear made its way down his face, smearing that blue triangle so that it flowed down his cheek to a point. 

“Oh, angel, I’m sorry, I - “ All at once you felt guilty for feeling as you had and for telling Joker about it. 

It was irrational, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. You hated telling Joker how you really felt, sometimes, because it caused him just as much pain as it caused you, so emotionally intertwined were you.

“Don’t.” Joker shook his head at your apology, waving it off. He carried on walking, the usual spring in his step no longer there as he made his way up those stairs. He walked several paces ahead of you where he was usually glued to your side, and you understood that he had separated himself from the situation for now.

He needed to think, and so did you; though you now understood that there was nothing to be jealous or afraid of.

Joker was going nowhere and neither were you.

In what seemed like no time at all but also all the time in the world, you were back at the apartment.

As soon as that door closed behind you and the safety chain had been drawn across as the last defence, you were in Joker’s arms, and that was where you stayed for the remainder of the night.

Seated on your lap did Joker tell you again and again and again that he loved you, and only you. Like the world’s sweetest lullaby did the words chase you into sleep, crawled inside your heart, and indeed did you almost feel sorry for the citizens of Gotham, for no one loved in the way which your Arthur did, and everyone except you was missing out on such a rare gift.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z                      @x-avantgarde-x       @insomniabird      @mavalenovaninagavi     @itwasrealenough     @morrisonmercurymalek     @rand0ms-fand0ms     @rafaelina-casillas     @aclownthing       @vivft                                          @help-i-am-obssessed      @autumnaffection       @taintednihilist   @vladtoly   @mg-woolf99      @misstgrey92   @dopey-fandom-girl         @seeking-dreamland      @sweetheart-syndrome      @heartxfdesire     @xmusichealsthesoulx       @0callmejude0      @the-one-that-likes-riddles        @hannibalsslut       @folliaght            @freeeshavacadoo         @bingewatchingmylifegoby       @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx       @sp0okysp0oky  @the-pandorabox      @mardema @jibanyyan        @honeyflvredcoughdrop         @emissarydecksetter @jokerfleckk         @epidendroideae         @chuuntas          @stillmabel       @pumpkinpeyes       @onehystericalqueenposts          @the-jokers-wolf       @nalsswa  @justahyena       @arianatheangelworld  @soullessblondbitch @gothamslittlejester  @twentyonestarrynights  @sirianfromsixties @kissmeclownman    @joker-is-my-hero  @lazyloosah  @lovesickkloxx @ladylovelyluna      @live-love-loki  @clownerybbxx   @tragicarthur    @anmach123      @rommie-chan      @arthurflock     @lucyboytom                  @immortal-bi-bitch    @hearthurfleck     @jokersproperty     @curlystark     @hailmary-yramliah    @sagyunaro     @playinthedarktillitsgoldenagain     @jokeringcutio      @xenthefox   @mijachula @stcrrynightsinneverlcnd      @cheyennejonas22    @mrjfleck      @pauli1100     @smitten-susie    @actualkey     @callmejokerfleck   @jaylovesbats    @itsforyoubitch      @ridiculousnerd     @killerprotector3579       @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend     @fantasticwinnerclodexpert                  @arthurs-sweater      @pinkie44pie    @tsukiakarinobara      @prettyxlittlexpsychoxprincess   @elodia-gahan   @yours-mia     @parkdonghoons      @lady-carnivals-stuff                         @hobi-hobi-kyo-kkyu      @jupiturde        @incognitofish      @j-sux      @nothing-but-a-comedy      @tahliamalfoydepp     @sgtsavoytruffle         @smol-nari       @pocket-clown     @joker-flecked-me      @millandram     @obsessedandthirsty   @holosexualunicorn7000    @anyatheladyclown   @imightaswellnotexistatall      @elusive-ivory    @funneeeh    @jokerhoe    @carnivalou      @floralhijabix         @sonrisa-yk     @livingmydreamsquietly    @marymadly

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xv

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xv: down the rabbit hole

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~10.6k ( i think? sorry? )

Rating: M for mature. You know; Far Cry 5.

Warnings: canon typical violence, some forced drug use (Bliss) that results in some PEAK emotional manipulation, a friendly reminder that this is not a love story about people in a healthy relationship but just a love story, sort of. Also I love tropes and no one can stop me.

Notes: HM not much to say about this chapter except that I had a ball writing it and I hope that comes through when you're reading it as well!! It's a joy to finally move some plot pieces a long and also explore some different narratives--especially Faith's, who I had been nervous about writing but made myself do it anyway.

I really hope you enjoy it! @starcrier​ blessed me with her input (per usual; she's an angel, what can I say) and of course I want to thank @lilwritingraven for helping me with the pacing of this chapter, as well as @baeogorath​ for letting me send them memes at like 3am and talk abt how Cora and Elliot are going to end up in a domestic partnership with many dog children.

She’s in a bar. 

She’s in a bar, and she’s twenty-two, and Joey is off to go get a drink and she doesn’t think she likes the one she has very much.

She’s in a bar, and she’s twenty-two, and John Seed locks eyes with her from across the bar and it feels like her entire body is getting eaten up by flame. She’s never had a man look at her like he looks at her—starved, like he could never get his fill of her, prowling through the crowd of bodies milling about in the bar to beeline straight for her.

Wanted. He wants her—and it twists in her stomach, writhing, white-hot and intoxicating and the second he closes in he says, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know,” she says, feeling his hands on either side of her neck, cradling. Her lashes flutter and the oxygen is so thin, like they’re somewhere very high, but they aren’t; they’re just there , together, the wildfire of him greedily devouring the kindling of her bones.

This is the part where Joey is supposed to come in. A part of her knows this: that any minute now, she will get pulled away, that even as John leans down to kiss her, the dream will evaporate and she will be left remembering that moment that she missed so many years ago.

But the dream doesn’t end. John’s lips brush hers; his fingers wind through her hair; John, she says, because nothing in her is not for him, just the kind of girl that he likes—the kind that’s hurting, and that hurts others.

“Just like me,” John says against her mouth. He disentangles his hands from her hair and reaches for her own, bringing them for her to see.

They are drenched in blood. Sticky, wet, crimson. A small, tiny part of her brain says, we can’t know for sure whose, but she knows.

Joey.

“See?” John says, his fingers biting into her palms, his teeth catching her lip. “Just like me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot’s eyes fluttered open. At first, she felt her body brace for some kind of impact—she had woken up in an unfamiliar bed, with unfamiliar sounds of voices outside, and someone’s breath fanning her neck. She shifted, forcing her eyes open despite the strange panic crawling up her throat, and peeked over her shoulder.

It was John. She thought, Oh. And then: Hm.

Not the kind of dread she had been anticipating. It was different than fearing a monster; it was the kind of dread that came with being known down in the most vulnerable parts of you, the kind that she’d felt after she’d stood up from laying everything out in front of Joseph. She’d felt sick, then, and slimy; every detail of every memory about that night years ago before moving back to Hope County had made her skin burn .

And then there had been John. Hands gripping, mouth hungry, but it was always: Anything you want, El. He’d done everything exactly the way she’d wanted it. John wasn’t the first man she had been with since her time in the city, but he was the first to—well, mean something, and wasn’t that a dreadful thought?

Pressing her face back to the pillow, the unfamiliar weight of his arm around her tightened when she shifted away.

“Stop squirming,” John rumbled. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“This is a twin bed, fucker,” Elliot replied, ignoring the unease that was beginning to knot in her stomach. She didn’t know why it was there, inside of her, until she realized she was—happy? “It wasn’t meant to hold both of us.” And then, bitterly: “ Fuck, you’re hot.”

She kicked her leg out from under the sheets, exhaling sharply as the complaint left her mouth. It was too late to choose better wording; she could feel John’s self-pleased aura radiating off of him almost instantly as he buried his face into her neck.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said, as his fingers skimmed beneath the sheet to trace the lines of her scars. She knew that it infuriated him that she hadn’t told him what they were from—but at least like this, he wasn’t interrogating her, contenting himself with feeling them rather than knowing them. She squirmed and grimaced.

“I mean like a space heater,” she grumbled. Tucking her arm up under the pillow, she added, “I don’t remember saying you could sleep here.”

John grinned against the back of her neck. “Are you kicking me out?”

A long, tired sigh slipped out of her, muffled by the pillow. Every part of her ached in a pleasant way, and John’s warmth pressed up behind her as they lay crammed on the bed in the bunkhouse was a grounding one; the kind that might let her sleep a little more. The darkness in the room meant that she hadn’t dozed off for very long, and even now her eyes felt heavy.

She knew that she’d barely gotten the amount of sleep that she needed since Joey’s death, let alone wanted . Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the gore and grit of it; it sat just behind her eyelids, waiting for her to try and get some rest and move forward to assault her with the memory of Joey’s gruesome murder.

The broken jaw, the gutted chest cavity. The flowers, packed so tight and full she could have rested her cheek on it and been held like a pillow. 

And John’s arms, circling her: Don’t look, El. 

“You can stay,” Elliot said after a moment, keeping her eyes fixed on the wall. “This one time.”

“You’re in an agreeable mood.” John paused, nosing past the hair gathering in the crook of her neck. “You want to tell me how your confession went now? Must’ve been pretty good, considering what you let me—”

She groaned. “I changed my mind. Get out.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, I just—”

“You are so fucking annoying,” she said, rolling over in the bed to look at him. With that grin slapped on his face and his hair tousled out of its normally meticulous slick-back, he looked boyish and young, not like a cultist maniac; it was probably the most frustrating thing about him, that he could look this way. That he could have moments of sincerity, but that he never seemed to fall into the realm of “good”, because every time she felt herself relaxing around him he did something to remind her why it was a bad idea . “I’m not going to talk to you about my confession.”

“Well,” John said petulantly, “why not ?”

Her fingers traced the Sloth scar just under his collarbone. He had a myriad of them—tattoos, too—and while she hadn’t quite gotten them all memorized, it was nice to let the buzzing of her brain focus on parsing them out instead of everything else.

The problem was that Elliot didn’t know how to tell him the truth of it; that she had only told Joseph those things about who she had been and who she was now because she knew that he wanted her to, just like she knew John wanted her to let him kiss her, and just like she knew Jacob wanted her to give him a reason to push her to her limits and really test her. She couldn’t tell John that, because even though it was true , it also didn’t change the fact that he complicated things for her more than she should have let him—like everything, John was an outlying variable which Elliot had no way to brace for.

“It’s not good pillow talk,” she said after a minute, skimming her fingers along the jut of his collarbone. “And I don’t want to talk about it, and that should be enough.” And then, decisively, when John opened his mouth, she said, “It is enough.”

John closed his mouth pointedly, and then said, “You certainly know how to ruin a good time.”

“Goodnight, John.”

She rolled back onto her other side and waited for the departure of his warmth. It didn’t go anywhere—instead, John buckled down, keeping his arm wrapped snug around her abdomen as his mouth traced the slope of her shoulder.

“You’ll tell me,” he said after a moment, his voice a pleasant rumble, “eventually.”

We’ll fucking see about that, she thought, closing her eyes with a muted sigh.

“ Goodnight, John.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’re late.”

Jacob sounded fully unimpressed, arms crossed over his chest as John stepped into the chapel. It was to be expected, he supposed; after all, they were supposed to have been convening about ten minutes ago, but sleeping in the bunkhouse meant his alarm hadn’t gone off, and—

And, even if it had, he wasn’t sure that he’d have rushed out of bed anyway.

“Sorry,” John said, not feeling nor sounding very sorry at all, he was sure. Joseph was seated patiently by the table, the radio set to the side as it casually flicked through channels on a timer, meant to scan and make sure they weren’t missing out on any chatter. He glanced at John as he came in, his eyes inquisitive, but remained silent.

And then Jacob announced, “Your shirt’s all fucked up.”

“Didn’t have time to change,” John replied. He wanted to say it—he really did—but he mostly wanted Jacob to ask. “I came right over as soon as I woke up. What do we have on the Family?”

“Hey? John?” Jacob leaned down against the table, palms flat on the surface, fixing him with those steely eyes. “What the fuck?”

Faith stifled a laugh, her eyes glimmering wide and doe-like on her face. “You aren’t going to tell us what happened to your shirt?” she asked.

“I feel like this is detracting from the purpose of the meeting,” John answered, trying his very best to feign innocence and focus in the face of the attention, which—after all of Jacob’s moaning and groaning about his incompetency with the deputy, he was enjoying immensely.

Jacob pushed the collar of John’s bedraggled shirt aside with one brisk movement. “Are those nail marks?”

“Oh, John,” Faith sighed.

“Well, I don’t want to brag,” he said, brushing Jacob’s hand off of him, “and I won’t, because there’s no reason to. I’m just doing my—you know, my job.”

“So,” Joseph said, finally, “the deputy is...?”

His older brother arched a brow loftily at him, watching him from across the table. He didn’t seem to be enjoying John’s little show quite as much as his other siblings—in fact, Jacob seemed the most pleased, that wicked grin splitting across his face as soon as John said, “I think you could consider her converted. ”

“Little John finally got around to it, huh?” the red-head said, sounding quite amused.

Joseph waited. “Is that so?”

“She confessed to you,” John explained, “and then—well.” He glanced at Faith for a moment. “ Confessed to me. And actually, you know, Joseph, I was thinking about that little problem we were discussing a few days ago.”

He leaned in against the table, pleased to have their rapt attention—most of all, Joseph’s; his brother’s gaze was fixed on him expectantly, waiting patiently for the elaboration that he hoped was coming.

“Problem?” Jacob prompted. “You mean Burke?”

“I mean the whole thing,” John replied. “Burke, whether he got out or not, what’s going to happen once we get rid of the Family if someone tries to come down on us. Joseph’s right when he says there’s ways to make people not talk. Who knows if the Resistance members got out? And even if they did, who’s to say they won’t leave this place behind them forever and never look back?”

Jacob crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay?”

“Okay, so ,” he continued, and then paused and said, “bear with me—”

“John.”

“What if—Elliot and I got married?” he finished. All three sets of eyes blinked at him for a moment, and then he said, “ If this goes to court, and if we have witnesses pulled up against us, Elliot can opt out of testifying against me if she’s married to me. Only a complete moron would put her up on the stand after hearing that she’s a Seed, and—”

“Stupid,” Jacob interrupted. “Bad plan. If she does get put up on the stand against one of us , what is she going to say, John?”

“She likes Joseph,” he ventured. “Sort of. Right? The confession went well, you said.”

“And me,” Faith offered. “I’m probably her favorite.”

“That’s very true,” Joseph conceded.

John plunged on, “She has a good reputation. She grew up here, went to school here, knows all of the locals, worked on law enforcement—”

“And she’s fucking nuts,” Jacob deadpanned. “They’re going to take one look at her body count and put her in a psych ward. I don’t care if you want to have a bride, John, but don’t pretend that it’s for us and not for you. We all know the second you put your eyes on her—”

“Well, it was really fucking stupid of us to let Burke get out!” John snapped. “It doesn’t look good , you know? The prospects? Not to be a big bummer, but I’m trying to make a win out of a losing hand!”

Joseph lifted his hand to signal that an end to the discourse had come. He settled back against his chair for a moment, pensive, eyes fixed on the Eden’s Gate symbol carved into the front of the chapel; it felt a little like agony to sit and wait for him to break the silence, and John could sense the unease prickling in his stomach.

“The deputy has confided in me the extent of her past,” he began at last, “which matches up with everything we dug up on her before, when she came back.” He sighed thoughtfully. “She was truthful, and willing, and so vulnerable. It really was remarkable—and with all that time she spent fighting us. You should have seen her, John.”

I know, John thought when the spiteful venom shot straight through him, taking away some of the victory that had rooted itself there in his chest. I know, I know, that should have been fucking mine.

“She confessed to me, and then…” His eyes landed on John. Delicately, he continued, “... willingly indulged you.”

“I’ll say,” Jacob muttered.

“It seems that our deputy is turning a new leaf, after all.” Joseph’s gaze flickered absently down to the table, and he asked, “So. She’s agreed to it? This idea of yours?”

No, John thought, with no absence of affection and frustration in equal amounts. If he was being honest, he thought that she wouldn’t have agreed to it even if every bad thing they had ever done to her was erased; that was just the kind of woman that Elliot was. All the more reason to want her. All the more reason to make the taming sweeter.

And if tying Elliot to him legally, by name, didn’t get them out of this mess, it would at least ensure that she stayed in it. 

With him.

After a moment, he ventured, “It could require a little extra persuasion.”

“Hol-ee shit,” Jacob said. “You came with a half-baked idea that you haven’t even gotten confirmation on? John? John?”

Feeling another bout of bickering come on, Faith let out a little exhale of breath and came to a stand, smoothing her hands along the skirt of her dress. Both Jacob and John stopped their oncoming fight to look at her—almost as effective at garnering attention as Joseph, his little snake.

“I’ll talk to her,” Faith said. “It shouldn’t come from you. You’ll just piss her off.”

John narrowed his eyes. “It takes a rapport, Faith, and you’ve barely spent any time with her.”

“It’s not about the amount of time, it’s about the quality of the time,” she snipped. “Fifteen minutes with her and she was willingly offering up information about her childhood to me.”

“Okay,” John replied tartly, “and?”

“When I was kidnapped by the Family, they kept referring to their— substance as ‘opening them to the influence’,” the blonde said primly. “And when I heard that, I thought, what a good idea! It’s easy to overwhelm the body with Bliss, you know. Send someone on a nice trip. But if you just give them a little bit at a time? Over a longer time? Sort of like what Jacob does.”

“We’re not letting Jacob do his brainwashing on her,” he bit out.

“No, John , we’re not,” Faith sighed. “I just mean—give her enough where she doesn’t realize what’s happening. It just makes her…” She searched for a moment, and then smiled brightly. “Soft.”

Oh, he thought, I do like it when she’s soft.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Joseph said, before he gathered up the threads of his thoughts from images of Elliot soft , burying her face into his neck and sighing prettily. “And if she’s more open to your influence because of it, John, then what’s to lose anyway?”

“Well, since we’re all settled on this fucking insane idea,” Jacob said, spreading the map back out on the table, “Faith will take care of that while I educate everyone on what’s going on with our Family, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When she woke up, John was gone, and with him the satisfying warmth that had lulled her back to sleep. In his absence, Boomer had curled up on the floor next to her bed; John must have let him in on his way out.

“Hey, buddy,” Elliot murmured, reaching down and ruffling his dark fur affectionately. He made a low, whining groan, blinking big brown eyes up at her. “You’re ready to be done, huh?”

Boomer rolled onto his back, stretching his legs luxuriously as she patted his stomach. She was pleased to find that John had left almost no trace of himself—no articles of clothing, no sticky note left on the bedside table. It was as if he hadn’t ever been there.

Well, almost, anyway. She slid out of bed and grabbed some clean clothes from her bag, making her way to the bathroom to start the shower. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she almost started; there were marks blooming on her neck, her collarbone, her hips. Her lips were kiss-reddened, her hair disheveled. She thought for a second that she’d never looked more like a stranger and also felt like herself in a very long time—though perhaps that had to do with having a clear path out of Hope County. As close to clear as she could get.

About ten minutes into the shower and she heard the door to the bunkhouse open; Boomer barked once, and Elliot stuck her head out of the shower to say, “John, I really only just got into the shower—”

“It’s me.” It was Faith’s voice. Softer, sweeter, more welcome even all things considered. Elliot hadn’t forgotten the way that Faith had stuck around to try and comfort her, even if she knew she’d been told to do it, and even if she knew that Faith had to have been doing it for something. The only person who had ever done that because they cared for her was dead, now.

“Oh.” Elliot paused, clearing her throat. “Um—I’m sorry, I thought—” Fuck fuck fuck.

“I can wait,” Faith continued, closer to the bathroom door now. “I was just going to see if you would go on a walk with me. We’re not allowed to leave the compound alone anymore.”

Faith’s voice sounded small, filled with a kind of longing that Elliot recognized in places of herself, too—the kind of longing that she’d felt before she’d met Joey: to be around someone, anyone . She swallowed thickly. 

This wasn’t on her agenda for the day. She was supposed to be grabbing a map, trying to get to the radio without getting seen, figuring out where they kept all of their guns. She’d gathered what ammo and weapons she could at Fall’s End, but it had been slim pickings.

“I’ll hurry,” Elliot said after a moment, and she meant it. She sprinted through the rest of her shower; somehow, the idea of keeping Faith waiting was more tragic than leaving any of the other Seeds waiting, and maybe it was because Faith wasn’t even a real Seed at all and somewhere along the way had gotten snared in their trap.

She had to be safe. She had to be careful. And that meant not trusting a Seed—even an honorary one. Especially an honorary one.

Once she had dressed, she stepped out into the main room of the bunkhouse to find Faith waiting patiently. Unlike John, she didn’t regard Boomer with a look of wary disdain (though it had been a while since he’d done that), but rather with a little smile planted on her face; the Heeler’s hair was up, and he made a low warning noise that rumbled right out of his chest, but he laid flat on the floor and looked instantly to Elliot for a cue on whether their new guest was dangerous or not. She waved her hand at him.

“Sorry about that,” Elliot said before she could stop herself—there was no reason for her to apologize for Boomer being wary of her, considering all of the variables, but Faith’s sweet face gazing wide-eyed and trusting at her was enough to dig right in the grit of her in a way that John or Joseph couldn’t have ever. 

“It’s okay,” Faith replied amusedly. “I know John locked him up in a cage.”

“Yeah,” she said dryly, shifting on her feet. She was glad she’d packed mostly sweaters, a few high-necked, to help conceal the remaining bruising. With a gesture for Faith to head out of the bunkhouse, Elliot followed her out into the late morning—but not before she grabbed a handgun out from under the bed, flicked the safety on, and tucked it under her sweater and into the back of her jeans.

Outside, the sun had receded behind a thin veil of gray clouds, and in the distance thicker ones started to roll in. Angry, boisterous kinds of clouds. She hoped it was going to storm again; she loved an Autumn storm, but she had the feeling that it would only be a nuisance in the end.

“I can’t believe how gloomy it is,” Faith murmured, pouting. Without any ceremony, she took Elliot’s hand in hers, interlacing their fingers like they had been friends forever; a sweet perfume scent wafted off of her, and it smelled familiar , but Elliot couldn’t figure out what it was. Boomer sprinted on ahead of them, doubling back every once in a while as he got his stretch in, and the girl continued, “Jacob says it might even snow. ”

Elliot grimaced at the mention of Jacob but trailed obediently next to Faith. It was so much harder to maintain the anger, even knowing that she had been just as complicit. Faith was just so—

“It’s snowed as early as August here, once,” she offered, dragging her mind away from what it was that bothered her the most: that Joseph, Jacob, and John were all somewhere, convening, likely about her. Likely about things that she needed to know. “What are your brothers doing?”

“Talking about boring stuff,” Faith replied with a little laugh as they walked out from the gate of the compound. And then, with a sly little look on her face, she said, “Talking about you, too.”

A little lurch caught in her stomach. “What about?” she asked faintly, and Faith shrugged.

“John’s upset he doesn’t know what you talked to Joseph about.” As they broke away from the dirt path and went instead closer to the forest, Boomer ducking and darting as he chased a mouse, Faith gave Elliot’s hand a little squeeze. “He really likes you, deputy.”

“You can call me Elliot,” she clarified. The title felt wrong, now that Joey was gone. Now that Whitehorse was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t really even a deputy anymore. “And did he tell you that? He’s got a funny way of saying things.”

“I can just tell. John’s my brother, and he’s bad at hiding his feelings.”

Elliot smothered a laugh before it could come out of her. “I suppose he is.”

They walked like that for a few moments; Faith, remarking often about something that caught her eye, Elliot offering whatever information she could about the flora and fauna, and on one occasion Boomer sat still enough to let Faith brush her fingers over his ears. It was a strange, suspended sort of moment in time, Elliot thought. Like they had entered a bubble entirely their own, perfumed by Faith’s floral-sweet perfume, the freedom of walking outside of the compound, and the gentleness that Faith carried with her.

She was so remarkably unlike any of her siblings that it was almost possible to forget she had ever been one at all. That at one point, she had held Joey captive at John’s behest, in a way to wrench on the softest parts of her.

“I’m very sorry,” she murmured after a moment, garnering Elliot’s attention. “About Miss Hudson. You know, they kept us together. The Family. She was…”

Oh, Elliot thought, as the faint wash of grief slipped up in her, trying to climb up her walls. Oh, please don’t say something lovely. I just can’t stand it.

“So kind,” Faith murmured at last, “to me. Even after everything. When I was crying, and scared, and thought no one was going to come for me, she held me. She always said that you were going to come, no matter what.”

The words rinsed her with a different kind of sorrow, then. Not even really for herself, anymore, but that Faith had known Joey’s kindness, and now she would be without it.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” Faith continued after a moment, stopping their walk as they had looped back around and now the chapel was coming within sight. A swoon rattled around in her head again as a waft of Faith's perfume smothered her. “You know? Brothers are nice, but—”

Elliot felt a pleasant, dreamy buzzing in her head, and she thought it might have been from the words because— because, and that was all her brain could think to supply as the thoughts flickered around in her head. Because Faith wrapped her arms around Elliot’s midsection and hugged her, head tucked just under her chin, because the young woman felt so tiny and small and frail in her arms, because there was nothing about what she said that came with the same boxed, off-brand sincerity that the rest of her brothers used.

“I’m so happy you came, Elliot,” she murmured, her voice floating up to her muffled by the fabric of her sweater. She was holding so tight that Elliot could feel the rabbit-like fluttering of her own heartbeat in comparison to the slow, luxurious tempo of Faith’s. “I’ve felt really alone out here.”

When she tried to lift her arms, cautiously, it felt like she was moving under water; she rested her hands on the blonde’s shoulders. “Faith,” she started, “if you—if you’re—unhappy—”

I can get you out too, she thought, a little desperately. I can get you out. I couldn’t do it for Joey, but for you, I could.

“What do you mean?” The young woman smiled up at her, and their noses brushed, and that scent washed over her again. What was it from? She couldn’t quite muddle through her brain to catch it and pin it down. “I’m so happy. Now that you’re here.”

“M-Me too,” Elliot managed out. She thought, vaguely, that something must be wrong; before she could trouble herself with it anymore, Faith reached up and kissed her cheek, and then the corner of her mouth, chastely. A burst of floral raced through her mouth, humming between her molars.

“Are you?” Faith asked her as the world wobbled a bit around her. “Happy, Elliot?”

Was she? When she reached around inside of her, dug around deep, she had anticipated to find that sharp little jumble of glass inside of her, all of the anger and the hurt that had been wadded up and sat right locked away in her jaw: but it was nowhere to be found, then. In that moment, all she felt was a gorgeous swoon of delight race straight through her at the idea that she could still be happy.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment, feeling a little smile tugging at her lips. “I am.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So,” John said casually, “are you going to tell me what Elliot said to you?”

“Oh, fucking Christ,” Jacob muttered.

“John, you know that I can’t.” Joseph’s voice was mild, and patient, as he gathered his things from the table and came to a stand. “She confessed to me in absolute confidence. I could never violate that.”

“It’s important,” John replied, shooting Jacob a look when he scoffed, “to make sure that I have as much information as I can.”

As they walked toward the chapel’s doors that led out into the main yard, Joseph rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, rooting him to his spot for a moment. It was just a tiny gesture, but that alone was enough to make John hesitate, glancing over at his older brother.

“Everything that you need to know about our deputy,” Joseph said, “you do. The only advice I can offer you is that she’s already told you what she wants, more than anything.”

“Don’t,” John sighed, “ please don’t be cryptic with me. I don’t know—”

“You do,” his brother cautioned. “You do know, John. She’s just a woman, you know. She wants what anyone wants.” He gestured for him to move forward, and he did, albeit reluctantly, and Joseph opened the door to the outside. “A place to belong. A person to belong to, or a person to belong to them.” He paused. “A home.”

“John!”

As he stepped out of the chapel, Faith’s voice dragged his gaze to the small little space between the chapel and the building next to it. His sister waved at him with one hand while the other clasped Elliot’s tugging her along.

“We wondered how long you guys were going to be,” she said, beaming at him as they neared, Jacob and Joseph trailing after him out of the chapel. Joseph got as far as the doorway, leaning against it comfortably. Elliot’s face was flushed prettily, and yes, he could see it—the ever-so-gentle dilation of her pupils, a strange dragging smoothness to her movements, like each lift of her arm or flicker of her eyes was being done in a syrupy pool of molasses.

“It wasn’t too long, was it?” he prompted amusedly. “Only an hour and a half, I think.”

“Boring,” Faith insisted. “Elliot and I had so much fun. She knows so much about the plants around here, did you know?”

The sentence almost made John laugh. Faith knew just about as much as anyone could be around the plants in the area; he knew that she was capable of this kind of sweet manipulation, but to see it in action, to see the way that Elliot’s nose crinkled at the compliment, was different.

“Not,” Elliot managed out modestly, “that much.”

Joseph said something to beckon Faith; John couldn’t hear it, or if he did, the sound didn’t filter into his mental archives, because Elliot was gazing at him with something other than venom, and when their eyes met she waited a heartbeat too long to look away.

“I think I’m— gonna go lay down,” she said after a moment. “Thanks for talking with me, Faith.”

“I told you,” Faith replied sweetly from the doorway of the chapel, “I’m so happy you’re here.” And she swiped her thumb along her lower lip, like the dredges of a sweet-drink she didn’t want to forget, and John felt like he’d missed something important.

As Jacob brushed past him with one last meaningful look over his shoulder, John cleared his throat and asked, “Are you feeling alright?” just as Elliot caught herself from swaying on her feet.

“Me?” she repeated, and as she took a step forward it seemed to hit her really hard then, her hand flying out to stabilize herself with his shoulder. “I’m good. I’m pretty good, you know?”

“I don’t,” John replied. He reached up, brushing the hair from her face, and for a moment her eyes fluttered and she sighed. “Tell me.”

“Got food.”

“Mhm.”

“Got sleep.”

“Right.” John nudged her forward, walking her towards the bunkhouse.

“Got—” She paused, almost like she felt suddenly shy, opening the door and stepping inside. She looked at him over her shoulder, a little smile tugging at her lips. “ You. Don’t I, John?”

He thought very suddenly that he had been a fool to doubt Faith’s capabilities. A fool, certainly, and an even greater one to not have taken advantage of this sooner. Of course dunking her in a river bleeding Bliss had made her feel like shit. It was meant to disorient her. But this Elliot? Gently, sweetly catered into a bliss-buzzed reality?

“Yes,” he replied as her arms slipped around his neck. “You do.”

“Smell good.” Elliot nuzzled her face into his neck. She smelled like Bliss extract—like she’d taken a bath in it—and when she leaned up and kissed him leisurely, unhurriedly, she tasted like it too. It vibrated in his mouth, sharp and glittering and racing straight down his spine. “You left too many marks on me. It’s hard to cover up.”

“I’m sorry,” John said, even though he wasn’t sorry at all.

“You’re not.” She grinned against his mouth. “But you will be.”

The words sent an excited little thrill through him, anticipation prickling along the back of his neck. But he needed to stay focused; he needed to remember why Faith had done this for them in the first place. Not to get Elliot relaxed enough to actually enjoy herself, but to secure at least one aspect of their future that they could get their hands on.

He said, half-cocked grin on his face, “Is that so?” while Elliot nudged him to one of the chairs settled snug and comfortable in the corner of the bunkhouse. The table had been littered with her own belongings that she’d fetched from Fall’s End — her bag of clothes and things from the house, the two crates worth of supplies she’d hauled from the Spread Eagle. As soon as he was sitting in the chair obediently, she settled in his lap.

“Hey, El,” John said against her mouth, “what if we did something?”

“Kissing is something,” Elliot replied pleasantly.

“I mean,” he tried again, skimming his hands up underneath her sweater and down her back, “what if—we got—what the fuck is this?”

His hands hit lukewarm metal. He gripped it tentatively, feeling familiar ridges and lines, and pulled it out from where it had been tucked beneath the top lip of her jeans. 

It was a gun.  

In hindsight, John realized that it would have been stupid to think that she hadn’t grabbed weapons while they were in Fall’s End—she obviously didn’t think they’d give her any, and she was probably more right about it—but the absurdity of actually catching her with one on her was almost too much, in juxtaposition to the innocent way she was regarding him.

“A gun,” she said.

“I can see that,” John replied amusedly, making sure the safety was switched on before he set the gun on the table. “Care to elaborate?”

Elliot shrugged. The black of her pupils slowly ate away at the blue of her irises, until he thought that there could only be a sliver of them left now. “Not really.” And then she kissed him again, instantly pulling his mind away from the task at hand as well as the careful procurement of her firearm.

“You wanted to be—armed, walking around with my sister?” John rumbled against her mouth.

“Not getting caught unarmed,” Elliot replied. “Not again.” And she threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him, sighing into the liplock prettily and reminding him, again, why he was actually here.

John waited until he could feel the flutter of her pulse under his fingers before he said, “What if we got married?”

Elliot laughed. “Don’t be stupid,” she murmured, while his fingers traced the bruise he’d left the night before. 

“I’m not.” He kissed her again, distracting her for a moment. “What if we did?”

The blonde stilled and pulled back, regarding him with a gaze that was both unimpressed and confused. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t say anything, and she pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Why?” she asked suspiciously. But John had been prepared for this question, because he knew it would come inevitably, and he leaned forward and tugged her down to kiss her again; her movements were more tentative now, as though she were trying to brace herself against him.

“I don’t want,” John said against her kiss, “you to be alone anymore.”

“Um,” said Elliot, sounding faint.

“And when this is all done with,” he continued quickly, “all of this stuff with—with the cult, you and I can get out of here.”

She stared at him. He could almost hear the sluggish churning of her mental gears, grinding and lurching against each other. In the time that he’d known Elliot, he’d come to understand that there were two things that she cared about: getting her friend, and getting out. And it was easy to promise both; by the time they got to the end of the line, it was time to make a decision about staying or leaving, Elliot would be so won over by him that she’d choose to stay.

What does anyone want?

“But what about…” She swallowed thickly and gestured with her hand. “What about—like—all the others—”

A person to belong to them.

“I want to be with you,” John said, low and easy. “I want to be yours, El.”

Her lashes fluttered uneasily. “John—”

“I want a home.” He studied her face. “With you.”

Come on, he thought as she worked the words through her Bliss-muddled brain. Come on, hellcat, come on, I know you want to.

“If you—I bet if you agree to testify,” she started, “then Burke could—”

“Cutting a deal only works if you can choose not to testify against me,” John told her. “You know that, El.”

She didn’t; she was only a small town deputy, but it didn’t matter. She nodded like she did. She was a small town deputy with nothing and no-one left, and now he was offering her what he thought she wanted the most: something. Someone.

“You said there was a John that you wanted,” he continued. He kissed her, his hand cradling the back of her head, and he felt her fingers fist the front of his shirt like she was afraid of disappearing. “I’m here.”

Voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Okay.”

John nosed past her hair, kissing the slope of her jawbone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Elliot repeated. “I’m—yeah, I want—I want you to be… If you’ll go, when this is done—if you’ll cut a deal with Burke, and—”

A moment passed where she couldn’t seem to bring herself to say exactly what she meant. So he waited, and let her muddle through it, mouth twisting for a moment. A person to belong to, Joseph had said; he felt the absent fluttering of her pulse under his mouth. A person to belong to them.

“Then I want you,” she managed hazily, “to be mine.”

Mine. The word echoed pleasantly, over and over again, in his own voice. Mine. All mine.

“Of course,” John murmured against her skin, “all yours.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Evening came, and with it, a plethora of new problems: chief among them, sober Elliot.

That is to say, though John had hurried from the bunkhouse and fetched the marriage certificate Joseph had figured up for him, and though he had made it back in time for Elliot to dimly sign it, she was nearly asleep. Which left the question up in the air as to whether or not Elliot would even remember their conversation, or if it would feel like a strange dream to her, and if it did, what was he going to do? Tell her?

By the time she’d slept off her happy little trip, John had filed the certificate away for safe-keeping, and she'd come barging into the chapel.

“Hey,” he greeted her, noting the sharpness of her eyes, the way she cocked her head and rolled her shoulders. “Get some sleep?”

“Yeah,” Elliot replied, her voice coming out a little hoarse from the sleep. “What happened? I was so tired, I can barely remember leaving Faith.”

Jacob looked at John pointedly, his brain rapidly scrambling for a foothold. Now, in the face of Elliot-not-under-the-influence, he had the distinct feeling that his assumption she would not be pleased at the idea of being a Seed felt truer than ever.

He should tell her. He should. He should tell her what they’d agreed to, that she’d signed a marriage certificate to be “witnessed” by Joseph and Jacob and Faith, that she’d said she wanted him to be hers. If he trusted her, he would.

“Nothing,” John said lightly. “You came back from your walk with Faith, said you were tired and wanted to go lay down. You look pretty flushed, though.” He feigned concern, reaching up to touch her forehead. “Are you running a fever again?”

Elliot jerked back, startled by the gesture, as though the display of affection in front of Jacob was a shock to her. Trying to look as though she hadn’t just acted like a cornered animal, she said, “I’m—no, I feel fine otherwise.”

“Okay,” he replied. “Well—”

“Faith said you guys were having a meeting earlier,” the blonde continued. “About what to do with the Family. I need to be in on those meetings.”

Jacob scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“ I’m going to kill Kian,” she asserted firmly. “So I need to know what he’s up to.”

The two of them exchanged a glance for a moment. John said, “Elliot, are you sure you don’t—”

“Positive.”

“Well, sit down,” Jacob snapped. “Not gonna wait all fucking day for you.”

Relief immediately crossed her face. It was so potent in that moment that she didn’t even seem to have the heart to bite out a retort—Jacob’s venom meant nothing to her, not if she was getting what she wanted. Elliot sat herself down at the table and leaned over the map, stifling a yawn.

Jacob covered all of the information that he already had with John and Joseph in their own, which was just fine; John didn’t need to hear about how they’d dug up Ase Carnell, daughter of a Swedish hedge fund king who’d inherited her daddy’s billions upon his departure from his mortal coil. He didn’t need to hear about that, because instead , he could think about the way Elliot had said, I want you to be mine. How sweet she would be when she’d settled into being his wife, too; how delicious she would sound saying, come here, husband.

He was halfway through a daydream when Elliot broke him out of his thoughts. “Did we find out anything about them?” she asked.

“ We ,” Jacob said, pointing at himself alone, “found out that they’re no longer holed up at the camp, but they’re on the move. Like they’re heading out of town. Somehow, these people are well-funded, well-equipped, and they have nothing but time on their hands.”

“Ase told us that the end of the world was coming,” John clarified, “and that it was their job to help usher it in.”

“Well.” Jacob grimaced. “We can’t let them get out. We should choke them here on their way out of Hope County.”

“Do you think Kian’s there still?” Elliot asked. “After what he did to Joey, I—I have to think he’s really pissed off.”

“There weren’t any stragglers,” Jacob replied, “the camp was completely empty, and we haven’t seen anyone out on their own.”

“Then I’ll go cut them off.”

Jacob barked out a laugh, and when Elliot regarded him with an even, unflinching gaze, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re fucking joking.”

“I have guns,” Elliot insisted. “I can drive in a firefight better than any of you fuckheads. Just ask John.”

“Yeah, he told me about your little stunt. You almost killed Faith.”

“But I didn’t,” Elliot insisted, “ and I got valuable information, which was that they weren’t willing to kill her even if it meant killing us, so you’re welcome, you fuckhead!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jacob bit out.

“Okay,” John interjected just as Elliot opened her mouth, “what if I went too?”

It wasn’t ideal. He didn’t really want to go on a happy little road trip to try and corner a murderous cult, he wanted to just let them fuck off and never come back, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that they had egregiously affected Elliot, and he had promised her, and if he went back on that promise now, the tentative peace they had come to would disappear instantly.

Whether she remembered the marriage or not.

His eldest brother stared at him for a long minute. John half-expected him to say no; after all, the whole point was to make sure they didn’t die, Elliot included, so that they could use her if something went awry after the Family was dealt with.

“Fine,” Jacob said after a moment.

“No!” Elliot protested instantly. “Fuck, God, no, I don’t—need a fucking babysitter.”

“On the contrary, I don’t know how you’ve survived this long without one,” Jacob replied. “John goes with you to choke them, or I go with you.”

Elliot’s mouth twisted in a vicious grimace. She tapped her thumb nail against her lower lip for a moment, her gaze sliding to him; their eyes lingered just a bit longer than normal, and for a second he thought she knew something that she wasn’t telling him.

“I’d rather drill out my own cavities than go with you,” Elliot said to Jacob after a minute.

“Great,” he said flippantly, “so you and John can have a nice little road trip down the highway—”

“Cool.”

“—and we’ll pin them in from the back. We’ve got enough explosives to light up the entire gaggle of them, but only once, so you’d better make it fucking count. Got it?”

Something was clearly brewing. It unsettled John, the way that she regarded him with a fixed, unreadable gaze. It struck John that Elliot hadn’t, in the last few days, mentioned anything about her plan, or her next move. It was the first time that he was not acutely aware of her intentions beyond revenge for Hudson.

What’s going on in that head of yours? He wondered. What’s storming around in there?

“Got it,” Elliot replied, at length. “So when do we leave?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot stood by idly while Joseph went about his work. His “work” being speaking in low murmurs to John and Jacob, hands on both of their shoulders, heads bowed together as he took them through what was certainly some kind of horrific disfigurement of a prayer.

Joseph had been pleased when she’d told him about that night in her apartment. He’d looked elated, to know the nitty-gritty details of her worst nightmare; of her then-boyfriend terrorizing her, for weeks, before breaking into her apartment. He’d been thrilled. He’d cradled her face and said, Don’t worry, Elliot. You’re safe now.

She had to bite back a laugh. Safe , like that meant anything to her anymore. Her apartment had been safe. Joey had been safe. And what had that gotten her?

Alone.

Alone, and with strange, broken moments of time. John had said that she’d gone straight to sleep, but if that was the case, she’d had uncomfortable dreams, too. Splintering fragments of what felt like a memory. John, kissing her, arms wrapped around her midsection: I want to be yours. I want a home, with you.

It was too much of a fairytale to have been real, she knew—John would never. He’d said it himself; he’d do anything for his family, and that meant dying, and lying, and squirming his way into her bed, and fuck him for being that way. Maybe she wanted him in her bed, and fuck him for that, too.

Because he had lied to her. Or at the very least, he hadn’t been entirely truthful with her. Elliot knew she’d taken her gun with her, and when she’d woken up, she’d seen it on the table.

“You’re not riding this time, bud,” she said to Boomer, the keys in her hand. “I don’t want you in the car if you don’t have to be.”

The Heeler gazed her, big brown eyes soft and trusting. His tail wagged softly in the dirt. If there was someone that was going to make it out of here, no matter what, she’d make sure it was Boomer.

“Elliot.” It was Faith’s voice. She had slipped up while the brothers spoke amongst themselves, smiling at her, small and tentative. 

“Hey, Faith,” Elliot greeted her, clearing her throat. A wad of anxiety rolled in her stomach at the sight of the blonde—something she wasn’t expecting, and that she couldn’t quite parse out. “What are you doing up so late? Or—early, I guess.”

“I wanted to see you off,” she replied sweetly. “You’re going to get that guy, right? The one that killed Hudson?”

She swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

“Good.” The blonde sounded oddly determined. “I hope he suffers.”

A wave of affection washed over her. It was an unexpectedly kind thing to say. “Me too.”

The brothers finished their convening, and as they divided—John to her, Jacob to a group of Peggies, and Joseph beckoning Faith to follow him into the chapel—Elliot felt something settle right in her, just under her skin, and John glanced back over his shoulder before he reached up.

His fingers brushed her jaw. She didn’t recoil the same way she had before, but steeled herself against the instinct to do so; the two combating urges to both lean and pull away. But she stayed perfectly still, and when John leaned down, she tilted her chin up.

Their lips brushed. She wanted to linger in the moment, to enjoy it, but she couldn’t brush off the creeping knowledge that he hadn’t been honest with her.

“Aren’t you excited to go on a roadtrip with me?” John said, his voice low as he kissed her.

Elliot tilted her head just a little bit out of his grasp. “So I can hear you complain about my driving?”

“Mean.” He smiled against her mouth. “Cruel. Wicked.”

“Are you trying to compliment me into submission?” Elliot asked, and then he kissed her again—slower this time, more leisurely; indulgent was the word he should have used for her, all things considered.

He looked at her for a moment, a little like he couldn’t get enough of her, and murmured, “Not into submission. Just complimenting for all the normal reasons.”

“Are you two leaving or what?” Jacob snapped from a few feet away. “We have time wasting.”

Elliot exhaled, sharp and tired, against John’s mouth, and he laughed, pulling away from her. He waved at Jacob before he walked around to the other side of the truck and climbed in; she hoisted herself into the driver’s side and rolled the window down and cranked the engine on. Everything she thought they might need had been loaded into the small space behind their seats—guns, ammo, what medical supplies she’d been able to take from Fall’s End, some food. She tapped a cigarette out of a carton she’d snagged and lit it.

“Really?” John asked, without heat, as she pulled the truck slowly away from the center of the yard.

“I’m tired,” Elliot replied, taking a drag of the cigarette. “If I am still sick, it’s really sticking with me.”

John was quiet at that, glancing out the window as they pulled out of the compound, and she whistled out the window and Boomer took off to dart through the underbrush like an arrow; dark and sleek and lethal. She could see his eyes glinting in the headlights as she turned onto the road and hit pavement.

“You shouldn’t have had to come,” she said. 

“I would’ve wanted to, even if Jacob didn’t demand it.” John glanced over at her, and for a second she thought he looked almost sly as he continued, “You don’t have to do everything alone all the time, you know.”

“Please don’t try and Atlas this thing, deputy.”

Jerome’s voice clattered around in her, vibrating each time it connected with some surface of her memory; but she didn’t let herself feel them, didn’t let them wander into her conscience, because if she did she would have lost herself to the grief.

“I know,” Elliot said quietly, tapping the ash out the window. “It’s just hard. I don’t—I’m not—”

“A team player?” he prompted, reaching over and taking the cigarette out of her hand so that he could take a drag for himself. Before she could correct him on what she was going to say— good at letting go —he snagged her free hand and in a surprising act of affection, brought it to his mouth to kiss her fingers.

“We’ll kill him, El,” John continued. He carried an easiness about him now that he hadn’t had before, like he was suddenly very relaxed despite the task at hand. “And then this whole nightmare will be over.”

The irony that John Seed was assuring her that the nightmare would be finished was palpable, and certainly not lost on her. Even if it was endearing, the way that he snagged her hand and kissed her knuckles, the way that he smoked her cigarette down, like she could get a secondhand-decompression from it.

“Yeah,” she murmured, “I know, John.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As soon as they hit the highway, the dark night sky stretching out above them, Elliot felt herself relax.

For the first time in a long time, she felt still ; as though all of that vibrating, all of that suffering, had ended, even if it was only for a moment. Even if that meant that John Seed was a part of the quiet.

“Remember the last time you were driving us somewhere?” John prompted from the passenger seat, rolling the window up against the chill of the late evening. “You stole my sunglasses, you smoked in the car, and then you tried to drive us into an oncoming car. With my sister in it.”

“This sounds like a lot of complaining for someone who’s still in one piece,” Elliot replied, hitting the cruise button on the truck and glancing out the window. She was going slower than normal, letting Boomer dart through the underbrush as he trailed them. He’d barely gotten half the amount of exercise he’d been used to since they’d been in the compound, so he was probably having the time of his little doggy life.

“I’m just saying, cruising at a cool twenty-five on an empty highway seems highly out of character for you.”

Elliot opened her mouth to say something, her head turning to look at John, but several things happened in very quick succession: Boomer barked, loud and sharp on her left, John leaned forward to look at him, and when John leaned, Elliot saw a dark, gray shape lurching its way from the far side of the road up onto the pavement.

Panic shot through her body. She slammed her foot on the gas, but it was too late; the van—and that’s what it was, a van —was quicker on the uptake and slammed straight into the back end of the truck, sending it tires-squealing across the highway and straight into a tree. The sound of crunching metal and glass breaking rang in her ears as her body lurched with the movement, wrenching against the steering wheel with a force that knocked the wind right out of her.

She was aware, vaguely, of airbags weakly deploying. Fucking Peggies, she thought through the haze of pain, fumbling with her seatbelt. And then her body kicked again: someone fucking hit us, fuck fuck fuck, oh shit oh fuck, her finger jamming uselessly on the mangled seatbelt clicker.

“John?” Elliot asked, as smoke billowed into the front of the car. The windshield was broken, and the engine sputtered dangerously.

“What—in the fuck—?” His voice was groggy, and through the smoke filling the cab of the truck and her own blurring vision she could see the dim shape of him moving.

The seatbelt finally released, and she fumbled blindly at John’s, ignoring the burning filling her lungs and stinging across her skin.

“John, we have to—John we have to fucking move,” she said, and then she heard the door behind her swing open; frantically she pushed at John’s seatbelt, trying to scoot away from the noise instinctively, but the second she felt a hand gripping the back of her shirt in a fist, she could feel the dread wadding up in her stomach. 

Elliot wrenched her body hard, not bothering to look before she tried to kick whoever was grabbing at her. The hand gripping her sweater went harder, another wrapping around her calf.

And then yanked. Hard.

There was no collision of body; no one was trying to catch her out of the truck, but just haul her out, tossing her like a rag doll onto the hard ground beside the road. It was the second time in as many minutes where the wind was ripped straight out of her, and she coughed, struggling to sit up.

A booted foot planted itself on her shoulder and pressed her back into the ground.

“Sit back, mor,” an unfortunately familiar red-head cooed, digging his foot into her shoulder until she squirmed. “Relax.”

“Fuck—yourself,” Elliot ground out, wrapping her free arm around the offending leg to try and get some leverage to pull herself out from under him. But Kian easily breezed past six feet tall, and probably weighed twice as much as her. He grabbed the hand gripping his knee with a kind of bruising force and twisted until she couldn’t bite back the cry of pain.

She could hear the sounds of voices on the other side of the truck, the sound of a car pulling up next to the wreckage, and Boomer barking furiously. 

John, she thought hazily, they’re grabbing him, and Boomer. I have to fucking—I have to get up, I have move, fucking move you useless fucking body.

“Did you get my gift?” Kian asked her, lifting his foot so he could haul her to her feet. Get out get out get out her brain was screaming when his free hand gripped her throat the same way it had done before. “Did you like it, mor? Picked out every flower myself and stuffed each one in. Her eyes —”

Elliot tried to throw her body weight one way, but to no avail; the images were already flooding over her. Joey, packed full of flowers. Joey, blooming from every part of her.

“—her mouth —”

“Stop,” Elliot begged, her voice coming out hoarse, grating on each sensitive part of her soul on its way out. “Don’t talk about her—”

“—her ribs and chest, those were the best parts to fill up,” Kian seethed. “Broke every one of her pretty little ribs and yanked them right out. Could not waste any space, could we, mor?”

He spat the moniker at her with venom. Where Ase had said it to her reverently, with adoration, caressing her with the single-syllable, he bit it out of his mouth: he sank his teeth into it, brimming with hatred.

Her vision fuzzed around the edges, and Kian dug his fingers into the soft skin of her throat. “Ase—said,” Elliot managed out, one last-ditch attempt at survival, “she said she was—she was waiting for me—”

Kian hauled her against the truck, all but throwing her against the dented and splintering metal as the smell of burning rubber filled the air. Every inch of her body was screaming , straining and aching, desperate for some kind of relief from the constant onslaught of pain.

“Ase,” Kian hissed out against her temple, so low that she almost couldn’t hear him, “is dead. Your man killed her. Or don’t you remember?”

Elliot wheezed. She did, but his grip on her throat was so tight that she thought she was going to pass out; there was no room to answer even if she thought that Kian wanted to hear it.

“We’re going to have fun, little one.” He punctuated each word as hard as he could, punching it out of his mouth. “We’re going to see how fast you can run. You and that man of yours. Did you know, mor —”

His fingers loosened on her throat, brushing over what she was sure was a bruise from John her neck, almost admiring. The sensation sent unpleasant goosebumps prickling along her spine. 

“—that I have intimate knowledge of the human body?” he finished. “So much time digging around in one, you start to figure out how to make someone’s life end quickly—or make them die a long and suffering death.” He smiled, the gesture out of place on his face; in another life, in another world, Kian would have been handsome, but in this lifetime the expression on him only looked jagged and sharp. Like it didn’t quite fit into his skin.

Elliot gathered up whatever strength she had left and spit in his face.

She hadn’t realized her mouth was full of blood, but in hindsight, it wasn’t surprising; watching the crimson splatter Kian’s face was more a happy little treat, albeit short-lived.

“You ugly fuckhead,” she gritted out as he wiped the blood from his face. “I’m pretty good at making sure people suffer, too, let me go first and we can—s-swap notes—”

Too late, she realized that Kian was banking on her mouthing off; he fished something out of his pocket and then shoved it into her mouth. It was a wet washcloth, the taste of it earthy and reminiscent of the lingering taste that had been in her mouth when she’d woken up at the camp before. She tried desperately to spit it out, but her jaw worked tiredly, exhausted.

“Much better,” he said. “I’ll tell you what: I see your color too, mor, and do you know what I see? Not white, not perfect balance like Ase said. You are gray. Oh.” He clicked his tongue, gripping her neck to pull her forward and then slam her back against the truck again, sending her vision spinning. “So sad, aren’t you? Don’t worry. You’ll bloom for me.”

Kian beamed at her, almost boyish, holding her with his vice-like grip.

“They always do.”

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Requested as a continuation of a headcannon by @hhh-angels if Logan had OCD and used plants to cope, with sprinkled in Logicality. Here is a one shot that was supposed to a lot shorter but I have no self control.

Wilting

Warnings: OCD, emotional break down, dead plant. If there's other let me know.

Trigger warnings: compulsive checking, emotional break down.

Ships: logicality

Word count: 2,496

"I gotta say Specs, I'm almost jealous that this is your room and not mine. Never pegged you for a Nature Nerd."

"Lay off Princey, we all have our habits."

Logan hummed in amused agreement from his place at his desk, smiling as a light breeze ruffled through the papers on its surface though not hard enough to send his organization to the literal wind. His room had been a collaborative effort after Patton had encouraged him to open up to the others more, making voicing his needs and breaching communication gaps much easier with the supportive side at his back. Roman had been the first to know, as Logan did not have the creative powers to make the changes he wanted. With minimal teasing, the princely side had "fulfilled his royal duty as a dear friend" to help make the layout changes he had been struggling to realize. Now his room was completely transformed and he absolutely loved it.

The shelves full of books and binders were still there, but now their sides were crawling with carefully maintained vines of every variety. Wisteria climbed up the sides of a shelf closest to him, while a grape vine had steadily curled up towards the ceiling in a corner, supported by carefully placed pegs embedded in the walls. The door was framed by a hyacinth bean vine that had already started to flower thanks to the power of the mind scape. His ceiling was taller, reaching 10 feet around the right edges of the room to accommodate for the climbing plants, glow in the dark star stickers still stuck to the plaster. Beyond that however, it faded into infinity.

The way Roman had reconstructed made it so a controlled portion of the imagination was contained within his room, a feat he was quite proud of and had offered to work into the others' room as well if they wish. This meant that the ceiling faded into an expanse of sky that loosely mirrored outside reality, going so far as to mimic an impossibly clear sky at night in which the colors of the galaxy could be on full display. This also meant there was room for a wide expanse of flowers that thrived better in an outside environment, and trees as far as the eye could see in every variety from cedars to cherry blossoms, though he hadn't ventured too far yet. Closer to his actual room he still kept and maintained his succulents on another shelf, the one Patton had gifted him so long ago still growing strong and placed proudly in the middle.

Logan was brought back from his thoughts as he felt a warm hand lay itself gently on his shoulder, prompting him to look up into the face of his loving boyfriend. They had established a tentative relationship after Patton had been led into his room for the first time for an impromptu thank-you-for-starting-my-plant-obsession cuddle session. His obsessive checking was still there, Logan realistically didn't expect it to go away so suddenly, if at all. But the stress that came with it was practically non-existent, especially once he entered his room to care for his lovely greenery. He felt more at ease, more heard, more cared for, than he had in years, and he had Patton to thank for easing him into a less stressful routine the way that he had.

Patton leaned forward and plucked the pen out of Logan's hands, spinning the chair around as he did and plopping down in his lap. "No more work, Lo. Enjoy the scenery."

And Logan really couldn't object to that could he? Late afternoon sunlight lit up the room, Roman was busy sketching something or other into a thickly bound and worn book, and Virgil was resting quietly under one of the trees nearby, face relaxed as he let the rooms ambience wash over him. Roman really had outdone himself.

Logan leaned back in the chair, wrapping his arms around Patton's middle and dragging him back with him to rest his chin on his shoulder. Patton giggled quietly as he adjusted slightly to make them both more comfortable, finally relaxing all the way to enjoy the fragrant breeze blowing around them.

------

"Hey, Lo? I think this one might be wilting."

Logan jerked his head back from where he had been carefully testing the soil saturation of his cactuses, quickly making his way over to Patton who had been helping water the controlled garden at the edge of his room. Yellow lilies were growing in this particular section, the one in question had turned a pale brown in color, its sickly stem barely able to hold itself up. It was clear it was past the point of saving, though with his careful care he couldn't fathom how its suffering had escaped his notice for so long. His hand tapped a nervous rhythm on his thigh, a steady 1 2 1 2 count that calmed his anxiety somewhat.

"That's...only natural, I suppose. Things die, I hadn't expected them to in the mind scape but I suppose Roman paid close attention to detail when making this, which I cannot fault him for."

Patton eyed him closely. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." The small lie slipped out easily, making him wince slightly. It really wasn't that big of a deal...at least it shouldn't be. It was just...he was so careful, and he knew Patton was as well, and the flowers were so pretty and were growing so healthily but...it didn't matter. Plucking it gently out of the bed , he waved it away and patted over the place it had once stood, smoothing out the dirt neatly. "There. No harm done."

Patton still looked worried, but wisely decided not to say anything.

-----

Over the course of two weeks flowers continued to wilt in and out of the contained garden space. It really shouldn't have mattered but Logan didn't understand what he could be doing wrong. The routine hadn't changed, he'd done countless hours of research trying to figure out what could possibly be the problem but could deduce nothing. Stress was creeping into the one place it had never been and it was setting him on edge, his compulsive checking resurfacing after months of staying under control. Locks. Yes. Microwave. Yes. Thermostat. Were the knives put away properly in the block? Was the coffee table moved just this way so that no one tripped getting up from the couch? Odd, new compulsions swarmed his mind in the dead of night. Were the carpets loose on the stairs? That would be a major safety hazard, that needs checked. What about the banister? Check. Recheck. The microwave really was unplugged right? Check. Check. What about the windows, they were shut weren't they?

Check.

Recheck.

Check.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing up?" Logan looked up from his current activity: pulling at the carpet at the bottom of the stairs to see if it was loose. It wasn't. He'd checked and made sure. But he had to check again. To be sure.

"Lo-"

"No. I have to finish checking."

"How many times have you pulled that section?"

Logan's face heated but he continued anyway, Patton standing at the top of the stairs patiently waiting. He knew this was important to Logan and he respected it. But it was currently 3AM and he had no idea how long Logan had been up before this.

He watched as the taller man stood up slowly and made his way to the kitchen, where Patton quickly followed.

"I have to check the microwave."

"Logan you checked that before bed didn't you?"

"I have to make sure."

"Logan-"

The side in question whirled around. "No! I have to check! I have control over this, I can check and recheck and if everything's fine then everything is fine! I can monitor this! This-" he waved in agitation at the still unplugged microwave. "-makes sense!"

Logan had circles under his eyes that could put Virgil's eyeshadow to shame and his exhaustion was made apparent with his swaying body throughout his speech. Slowly, carefully, Patton reached out and took Logan's hands in his, squeezing them gently and nodding in understanding.

"I'm not mad at you. And I'm not asking you to stop okay? I just want you to sleep, you look exhausted."

Looking back at the microwave, Logan slowly nodded, slumping forward slightly and taking calming breaths. "Okay."

Patton nodded again. "Okay."

-----------

The next day was greeted with a slightly better mood. There were no obligations to fulfill, so the morning had been spent catching a couple more hours of much needed sleep at the request of Patton and enough cuddles and kisses to last him a month, not that he would ever have enough. Today the cactuses and succulents needed watered and though he was still on edge he was looking forward to the calming activity.

He hummed slightly as he took up the small watering can used for the small plants and smiled over at Patton who was busy guiding one of the vines to grip another pike in the wall. Making his way to the shelf his simple tune caught dead in his throat, watering can forgotten as his grip slackened and it spilled across the hardwood floor.

"Are you okay? What's the matter?" Patton rushed to his side, and getting no response, followed his lovers line of sight to the middle of the shelf.

Wilted, dried and brown, the very first succulent plant Patton had given him was spread out dead in its pot, a far cry from the healthy green it had been just the day before.

He quickly looked back to Logan, any words of consolation dying in his throat as he saw the tears running down the others cheeks. He watched helplessly as the other strode forward and took the pot in his hands, folding himself down around it with shaking shoulders. Only when Patton heard the faint sobs becoming louder did he step forward carefully to crouch down next to him.

"Logan?"

"This was...you gave this to me....this was the first one and now it's gone and I DON'T KNOW WHAT I DID!" Gasping sobs escaped him as his shoulders shook even more, desperately gripping to the plant pot as if squeezing it hard enough would bring the plant itself back to life. Patton gently tugged Logan into him, resting his head against his chest as the other sobbed his heart out. His mind raced even as he began rocking them, gently whispering words he hoped were comforting down to the other.

Roman wouldn't speed up the rate of decay like this and Virgil would never play a prank this cruel. They and Patton were the only ones with the permission to come into Logan's spot in the Imagination, which had to be given to enter at all. The only side that might not need it....

------

Patton gently placed Logan's limp form on the bed, the other having cried himself to the point of exhaustion after a nearly hour long breakdown. His face hardened as he sunk out, popping up in Thomas's living room.

"Oh hey Patton, wha-"

"Hey kiddo, where's Remus?"

Thomas squinted in confusion, pausing whatever show he was watching to really look at his moral side. Patton's cardigan was gone and there was a large wet spot on the top of his polo. His clothes were otherwise rumpled but his face was the most worrying. Hard and set in a way he had never seen on the normally cheery side his concern only grew.

"I don't know. Did something happen?"

"Summon him please."

Not daring to question it, Thomas quickly stood up. "Remus!"

The Duke appeared behind the T.V., cursing as he took in his surroundings.

"I appreciate the invitation Thomas, but no thank you-"

"Too bad." Before Remus could sink out, Patton had a fistful of his sash and they disappeared together, leaving Thomas staring confusedly at the spot they had left.

--------

"Do you have any idea what you've done, Remus?" Patton maintained his hold on the Duke, staring at him with an intensity that made Remus of all sides swallow the words that immediately rose up and actually think over his response.

"Well...normally it's a question of who, not what, so I'd say I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to." Trying for vulgar humor to make the apparently very pissed off moral side let him go, his stomach sunk only deeper as Patton's face only darkened further.

"Logan's. Plants. What did you do. To Logan's. Plants."

Remus' eyebrow quirked in confusion. He knew now of course what Patton was talking about. But his prank was harmless! ...right? Why would he care so much about the nerds newest passion project? He decided to voice as much.

"All it was was a little realism! Roman had made the whole setup so perfect and boring. All I did was liven it up a bit. By...you know...killing....them?" The longer he spoke the more confidence left him. He wasn't scared of Patton, definitely not. Puppy and kitten loving Patton who definitely didn't have a look on his face that would set fire to the world if it were allowed to smoulder.

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going to fix the plants. You're going to wait here until Logan wakes up and apologize. You'll do it without complaint. Without sex jokes or vulgar language. And it will be genuine. After which, you will never touch anything in Logan's room without explicit permission from Logan himself. Are. We. Clear."

Swallowing thickly, Remus could only nod as he was finally let go, the fun loving father figure leaving him to stare off in chastised fear of ever daring to cross Morality again.

------

Logan sat back in his desk chair, sighing contentedly as a soft breeze fluffed out his hair. Patton sat behind him on the bed, gently scratching at Logan's scalp as he used his other hand to mindlessly color another cat in his book. Roman sat against a tree with Virgil, scowling playfully at the emo's choice in music while they shared a pair of headphones, Virgil hissing quietly about it being his turn and to "Suck it up, Princey."

"Remus, leave them alone." The Duke pouted before sitting back and busying himself with a worn sketchbook instead, knowing where the line was when he was allowed in Logan's room. His plants thrived properly now, his stress free zone rejuvenated with the knowledge it would stay that way. He still didn't know what had prompted Remus to play the cruel joke in the first place, nor what had made him fix everything and, according to Roman, give his first genuine apology.

As fingers continued to brush through his hair, he mentally shrugged and relaxed into the touch. In this instance at least, he felt it was okay not to know.

This work is also available on my AO3!

Please do not tag as unsympathetic sides or tw Remus. Thank you.

[excaliefur]

Lets just talk- Part 1

Hey, sorry for posting this later than expected, my laptop decided to crash on me. anyways. This is college au parrlyn. Probably over done but I’m doing it differently. This is Part 1, will probably have 3 or 4 more parts. All queens will be in it, probably not the LIW sorry. 

Now its probably incredibly inaccurate, I am not in college, I don’t even live in the UK. Most of what I wrote is what I looked up or asked my brother for.

TW: Cursing, blood (not graphic), Abuse, abusive family, abusive relationships, if I need to add more, let me know.

Anyways, Here you go:

Cathy had a rough week, school was tough, paying rent was tougher, she was already working 2 part time jobs and along with college, she couldn’t really do anything else. Cathy was majoring in psychology, english and criminology, so she was busy either writing or studying most of the day; She had one year of college left and after that she was leaving, putting as much space as she could between her and school. It wasn’t that she was bullied, nobody had time for that, but it was more like people ignored her for the most part, she had 4 friends only, one of which was her adoptive sister. There was Catalina or Catherine, Anna, Jane and Kat. Catherine and Anna were both in 4th year, while Jane was 3rd year with her. Kat was in 2nd year. She met Anna through Catherine, she met Jane in class and she met Kat at her job. 

It was 2am on a random Thursday when Cathy met her. Anne. 

Cathy had just finished writing an analysis essay on the horror film The Others, she turned her light off and collapsed onto her bed. She closed her eyes and waited for the darkness to envelop her, but before she fell asleep a deafening crash made her jump. Her eyes fluttered open and began to panic. Her heart began pounding faster, she struggled to control her breathing and her head was full of buzzing. Cathy hated loud noises, it reminded her of her childhood. Of that day when her mother- nope, no, no. She was not gonna think about that, not now. she took a deep breath and did a mechanism she had learnt a lifetime ago. Her breathing steadied and her body released tension. She sat up and noticed tears streaming down her face. Wiping her face, she switched her bedside light on. 

‘It was just a dream, nothing happened, nothing is going to happen, I’m ok.’ She whispered, attempting to convince herself. She groaned and fell back onto her bed. She was gonna have a killer headache in the morning. Thats when she heard it. To a normal person, there would be nothing out of the ordinary, but Cathy wasn’t normal. She was extremely sensitive to noise, almost as if she had super hearing, but thats insane. It was so quiet, barely noticeable for even her. It was someone, quietly crying. They sounded so, so lonely. their voice was choked up and as if someone was holding a gun to their head. Cathy shook her head, whatever was going on was none of her business, and it probably wasn’t something bad. 

Cathy couldn’t shake a bad feeling from her, so she got up, went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, to settle her nerves. A quieter crash alerted her immediately. It was the sound of broken glass. Now she could hear a conversation between 2 people. She could hear a loud, angry man and a quiet, but fierce woman's voice. The woman's voice kept cracking, so Cathy assumed she was the one crying. It went quiet, and Cathy reflected on herself. Why was she so worried, clearly both of them were ok, right? She berated herself for being so nosy, but a loud bang, once again interrupted her internal monologue. It was the noise of a door slamming shut. She could hear angry, loud footsteps climbing down the stairs. She heard a man cursing under his breath pass by her door, and she could smell the beer and on his breath from behind a wall. As the footsteps quieted, Cathy thought to herself. Was the woman ok? Should she go check on her. She could hear another choked sob from the apartment upstairs, and immediately made up her mind. 

She slipped her shoes on, and grabbed her hoodie from the kitchen table, sliding it onto her head as she opened the door. Before she closed it, she checked that she had her keys. Who would want to be locked out of their apartment at 3am? With a confirmation, she shut the door quietly, as not to disturb her neighbours. She wondered whether to use the stairs or the elevator. Cathy thought that maybe she would freak out the woman if she used the stairs. So she pushed the button on the elevator and waited. 

It was a quiet ride up to the next floor, nobody was with her, which made sense, it was 2-3 am, Cathy didn’t check the time. She got out and shuffled over to the apartment that was above hers. Her heart was pounding and her head was full of questions. What if she’s fine and thinks I’m weird, what if everything’s alright, what if I knock on the wrong apartment and it turns out it was the one below me? 

What if she’s not fine? 

That last one scared Cathy the most. 

She took a deep breath and knocked on the wooden door quickly, 3 times. A few seconds past and Cathy held her breath, was it too quiet? Was the woman ignoring her? As she was about to turn around and berate herself, she heard a click. The door swung wide open, revealing a dark haired, tall, but thin in stature woman. Cathy’s eyes travelled from the woman’s trainers, to her mysterious, alluring eyes. Cathy stood there, just admiring the beautiful stranger in front of her, before she realised she was staring.

‘um, uh, sorry, um, I’m Cathy.’ She stuttered out. The strangers lifted one of her eyebrows in confusion, waiting for her to go on. ‘Oh, I, um, I live in the flat below yours.’ Cathy clarified. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but I heard something break, and crying, and wanted to make sure you’re ok.’ She explained. The strangers gaze softened and shifted her weight onto another foot. Thats when Cathy noticed the blood. There was a trail of blood dripping down her arm, she was clearly trying to hide it, while putting pressure onto it at the same time, it wasn’t working. She looked into her eyes in alarm, and realised that the strangers eyes were puffy, red and large, probably from crying. 

‘Everything’s ok, nobody got hurt, I accidentally broke some glass, as for the crying. I’m not sure where that could come from, It must have been someone else, or the wind.’ The stranger replied. Cathy’s mouth opened, she wanted to ask her about the blood, or call her out on the obvious lie, but she couldn’t, something was holding her back. Noticing this, the stranger carried on. ‘Thank you for caring so much that you’d check on me, but everything is ok. I hope whoever was crying is ok, but I can’t help with that’ She said, in a tone, indicating that the conversation was finished. Cathy blanched, but remained silent. She nodded and once the door shut, Cathy sighed. 

On her way back, Cathy’s mind was whirling. What was going on? What was she hiding? It really wasn’t her business, but Cathy was too worried. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t good. Needless to say, Cathy got no sleep all night.