#lurking streak suddenly disappeared

[7iffer]

They make me believe in love.

[elficially-done-with-life]

Not Safe Anymore

Pairing: Maeglin x reader

Summery: Your husband is gone for a long time and when he returns, something heavy seems to be weighing on his soul.

Warnings: slight mentiones of torture and Morgoth

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You had known immediately that something was wrong, when Lómion had returned later than usual from his excursion to look for suitable places for further mining.

Normally he came back after three days, and it had always been three days in which you could hardly sleep, worried about what might be lurking outside the city walls.

But this time he had been away for almost two weeks. And nobody else even seemed to notice. Only when you spoke to your best friend Rog about it did he and a few others seem to realise that Lómion had disappeared from the face of the earth.

But everyone seemed to just accept it when Lómion returned and said he had just lost the way.

Sure, he had spent most of his time in the city walls, like you and almost everyone else in Gondolin, and before that he had been in Nan Elmoth. So it was not unreasonable that he had gotten lost.

But you knew Lómion and you knew when he was lying to you and when he wasn't, and this time you were sure that what he was telling you wasn't true. That there was more to it than that.

But what worried you even more was the fact that he seemed to flinch at loud noises. It was such a slight flinch that the other people around him seemed to miss it, but not you. You knew him too well for that.

He hardly ate anything and always seemed to be absent when you weren't talking to him directly.

One night, shortly after he returned, you once again found yourself unable to sleep.

Lómion's worrying behaviour just wouldn't let you go, no matter how exhausted you were.

He himself had fallen asleep a while ago. In the last few days, he'd always looked so much more tired than usual, so you weren't surprised when he fell asleep straight away.

You had no idea what time it was when a soft whimper and a jerky movement pulled you out of your thoughts.

At first you thought Lómion had woken up and got up to get a some water, but when you looked up, you saw what was really going on.

Lómion's face had contorted into an anxious grimace and he was twitching back and forth. Whimpers kept coming out of his mouth and tears were running down his cheeks.

The last time you had seen him cry had been at his mother's funeral. He had had nightmares, but none of them had made him cry.

Normally, you would simply wake him up during such a nightmare, but seeing him in this state before you, you just sat there frozen, unable to take your eyes off your beloved husband's tear-streaked cheeks.

"Lómion?" you whispered absently, but he didn't respond.

Instead, he whispered in his sleep, but his voice was distorted, as if he was in great pain.

"No- please-" he gasped in vain, "I- I- no- Morgoth- Gondolin- "

His fingers stretched out as if he were trying to push something away, but they simply reached into nothing.

"Betrayal- " he continued to whisper, "Traitor- me- " and then in a very shaky and slightly louder voice: "Help!"

That finally brought you back to your senses. Still with a very queasy feeling in your stomach because of the words he had just said, you bent over carefully and gently shook his shoulder.

"Lómion?"

You winced as you realised how much your voice was shaking.

Suddenly his eyes opened wide in an expression of utter panic and unspoken fear.

He shrinked back from your gentle grip on his shoulder and curled up, raising his arms protectively over his head. "Please stop," he gasped, his whole body trembling, "I- I- please do not hurt me again. I know I- "

"Lómion," you interrupted his babbling softly, "it is just me, your wife. Y/N. Everything is fine."

It took a moment, but soon Lómion was looking at you from under his arms. The panicked look was gone from his eyes and he seemed to be able to see more clearly again.

Then he buried his face in his trembling hands and began to sob desperately.

You didn't touch him again for fear he might get scared again, but you said reassuringly: "It is all right. It really is. I am here to help you, my beloved Lómion. You are safe."

At these words, he looked up jerkily and then shook his head.

"What do you mean?" you asked softly, trying to express all your love and affection for him with your gentle gaze, "What do you want to tell me?"

"We- we are not safe here anymore." he whispered and immediately the words he had mumbled seconds ago came back to you. Was he- had he been-

You sucked in a sharp breath. "My dearest Lómion, did Morgoth stop you from returning to the city earlier?"

His eyes were full of fear as he nodded.

Then something suddenly dawned on you. "Can you- can you not speak of it?"

He nodded again and more tears escaped his eyes.

You were not surprised. Morgoth was known for his brainwashing and you didn't know anyone who had been able to fight it.

You cautiously reached out a hand, but paused just before you touched him. "May I?" you whispered gently and Lómion nodded weakly.

So you put your hand on his tear-stained cheek and began to stroke it.

"Did he want to know where the city is?" you asked, although you already knew the answer. He nodded.

You took a deep breath. "You told him, did you not?"

Lómion nodded again.

"It is all right. Everything will be all right." you whispered, although you couldn't quite believe it yourself yet.

"Sorry." he whispered softly, but you shook your head.

"Lómion, my dear dear Lómion," your voice trembled as tears ran down your cheeks. "You had no choice. I am just glad you are back."

"Do you not hate me?" he asked quietly, looking ashamed. "I would understand if you no longer- "

"I love you. I do not think I would have done anything differently in your situation." Slowly, you leant forward and gave him enough space to pull away before gently pressing your lips to his brow. "You were so incredibly strong." Then you sighed. "We have to tell the king."

Noticing Lómion's fearful look, you brushed a few strands of hair from his face. "Not now. I think tomorrow will be soon enough. And Do not worry. You are like a son to Turgon, he will understand. At least he will try his best to."

Lómion didn't look particularly convinced, but he nodded.

Then he asked quietly: "Can you hold me?"

Instead of answering, you pulled him close and he buried his face in your chest.

"I will take care of you," you whispered softly into his hair, "No one will ever hurt you again if I can help it."

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1228: A Fun, (Un)fair Game of Paintball Wars (Kingdom Hearts X SSBU)

3:49 p.m. at Twilight Town's Local Paintball Battlefield.........

'Ratatatatatatatatatatatatatatatata'

Riku: (Running Away from the Various Paintballs Coming to his and Kirby's Direction While Desperately Looking For a Hiding Spot to Take Cover In) Come on......There gotta be an spot lurking around somewhere......

Kirby: (Searches For a Hiding Spot While Riding onto Riku's Back) Hmmmmm......('Gasps') Poyo Poyo! (Points Riku to the Closet Spot)

Riku: Good eye, Kirby. Let's roll.

Riku flips and dodges through every paintballs flying at his and Kirby's path before sliding himself over to the very hiding spot Kirby picked out for the both of them. The duo then silently shush one another as let they listen in on their opponents hunting for them in the distance..

'Boots Walking Noises'

Sora: Riiiiiiiiikuuuu~

Kairi: Come out, come out, wherever you are~

Pit: You too, Kirbyyyyyyy~

Viridi: If you come out right now, Big Sis Viridi will bake you lots of yummy,delectable sweets tonight!~

Kirby: (Happily Comes Out of his Hiding Spot) Poyo?

Riku: (Quickly Grabs Hold of his Partner, Revealing Himself as Well) Kirby!!

Sora/Kairi/Pit/Viridi: (Immediately Points Their Paintball Shooters at Two of their Preys) Gotcha!

Riku: (Summons his Keyblade) Warp!

Sora/Kairi: NOOOO!

As the gang begins to shoot at Riku and Kirby, bright blue light begins to surround the both of them before it causes them to disappear, unscathed.

Viridi: ('Sigh') They're gone.

Sora: (Stomps his Foot Down in Annoyance, Frustration, and Disappointment) Dangit, Riku! You just HAD to wimp out and break the "No Use of Magic" rule at the last second!

Pit: (Grabs his Chin) You know, I never really took Riku, of all people, for a rule breaker until now.

Kairi: (Crosses her Arms in (Cute) Anger) ('Hmph') I can. He always had this rebellious side to him growing up. Yet he has the nerve go around saying how much of a "Changed Man he is". ('Groans in Frustration') Oooh, I wanna kiss that dumb face of his so bad right now!!~

Sora: (Places his Hand onto his Girlfriend's Shoulder) Patience, Kairi. We'll both get our kisses and cuddles outta him as soon as we finally beat him at his own game.

Kairi: (Takes a Deep Breath as She Calms Herself Down a Bit) Yeah. You're right. The game's not over yet. (Puts on the Most Fierce, Determined Look She Has Mustered Yet) We will beat him at his own game and BREAK his winning streak if it's the last thing any of us do. (Pumps Her Fist Up to the Sky While Screaming Out......) RETRIBUTION!!!

Sora/Kairi: RETRIBUTION!!!!!

Pit: (Watches Two of His Friends Shouting 'Retribution' in the Mid Distance) Wow. Childhood rivalries are something fierce. (Turns to his Girlfriend, Viridi, Standing Next to Him) Either that or you were definitely not kidding when you say paintball fights could easily change a person overtime.

Viridi: (Casually Shrugs While Eating Gummy Wprms From Out of the Bag) Eh. It's entertaining to watch unfold either way. ('Mm') (Pass Pit the Bag) Want some gummies? They're pretty good.

Pit: I'll be judge of that. (Takes a Gummy Worm Out of the Bag and Eats It Before Falling in Love With It a Second After) Yummy~

Viridi gently pats her boyfriend's arm as she starts eating some more gummies for herself.

Meanwhile at the Other Side of the Battlefield........

A similar colored blue light suddenly appears at the destinated spot as it reveals itself to be Riku and Kirby before it wears off both of them and fades into nothingness.

Riku: (Panting a Bit Before Getting Himself Back Up) Okay.....I think we might've lost for them.

Kirby: (Pouts at Riku) Poyopoyo Poyo Poyopoyo!

Riku: ('Sigh') Yes, I know, I broke the magic rule. I panicked. It's not a good enough reason, but it's something. (Puts on a More Annoyed Look on his Face) Besides, if anyone you wanna chastise, it's Sora and Kairi for pinning the two of us against them, Pit, and Vi before coming here. Pretty one sided on their end, don't you think?

Kirby: (Shrugs) Poyo Poyopoyo Poyopoyo Poyopoyo. Poyopoyo poyo.

Riku: Well, yeah. You are a really tough cookie to cra- Wait. (Turns to Kirby) You did what now?

Kirby: Poyo poyo. (Takes his Phone Out From his Army Vest) Poyo?

Kirby then shows Riku a video clip of him participating in a Megaton Punch Champonship in the past, where he punched the two solid concrete blocks in half so hard that it caused the entire Planet Popstar to crack.

Riku: (Lowers his Hunter Shades, Surprised at What He Has Watched in Front of Him Before Putting Them Back on his Face).......That's insanely impressive. (Gently Pats on Kirby's Head) Nice job, Kirby.

Kirby: (Smiles Brightly by Rilu's Gesture and Praises) Poyo!~

Riku: But my point still stands. (Crosses his Arms) I swear, those two could've at least given us two more teammates if they really wanted a fair challenge that-

'SPLAT'

Riku/Kirby: (Suddenly Taken Aback by the Light Green Colored Puddle of Paint That Came Out of Nowhere, in Front of Them) Huh?/Poyo?

Before either one of them could say or do anything else, a duck figure suddebly pops out of the paint puddle, into the air while frantically screaming for dear life.

Kirby: (Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion at Everything That is Happening Right Now) Poyo?

Riku: Wait. (Eyes Widened Once More as He Instantly Recognizes the Duck Figure) Donald!?

Donald quickly starts flapping both his arms to keep him from falling down any further....only for that idea to be shot down in a few measly seconds.

Luckily for him, another figure suddenly jumps out the paint puddle, catches the short-tempered mage in her arms, and landed perfect and safely on the ground.

Kirby: (Complete Strucked in Awe and Amazed by the Catch and Save Displayed in Front of Him and Riku) Poyooooo~

Riku: The- (Raises an Eyebrow at Kirby) Squid Sister?

Donald: (Hugs The Squid Sister Still Carrying Him) You saved me.......

?????: ('Sighs in Relief') And just in the neck of time too. You holding up okay, Donald?

Donald: Yeah- (Instantly Realizes What's Currently Doing Right Now) I-I mean! (Clears his Throat Before Crossing his Arms in a More Mature Manner) That was nothing I can't handle.

?????: (Forms a Cheeky, Teasing Smirk on her Face) Really?~ Then how come you were screaming like a little duckling seconds before I caught you?~

Donald: I-I was just.....practicing my vocal chords.

?????: Is that right?

Donald: Yep. That's the reason. I'm a lot of things. COWARD'S not one of them.

?????: (Playfully Rolls her Eyes) Never said you were one, Donald. People freaked out in these kinds of situations all time, there's no need to be embarrassed about that. (Gives Donald a Bright Smile on her Face) You'll always be a great mage in my eyes regardless.

Donald: (Heart Begins to Melt in Genuine Happiness) Awwww~ (Hugs His Life Savior) Thanks, Marie~

'Clears Throat'

Donald: (Turns to See Riku Slightly Smirking at Him) Riku! (Quickly Gets Off of Marie's Arms and Back on his Feet Before Giving The Young Keyblade Master a Sheepish Smile] H-Hello! It's been a while.

Riku: Likewise.

Kirby: (Happily Greets the Fellow Duo) Poyo Poyo!~

Marie: (Let's Out an Excited Gasps as She Sets Her Now Sparkling Eyes At-) Kirby!~ It's so nice to finally meet you in person. (Squat Herself Down to Kirby's Height Level) Cal and I are really huge fans of yours.

Kirby: Poyopoyo Poyo Poyopoyo!

Marie: ('Gasps') No way. You're a fan of me and my sister's work?

Kirby: (Happily Nodded to Marie) Poyo Poyo Poyo!~

Marie: (Eyes Widened in Genuine Surprise) And I'M your favorite out of the two of us!? I-I don't know what to say- (Happily Bows to Kirby) I'm so honored ~ (Smiles Sheepishly) B-But let's keep this between us, yeah? My sister can get jealous really easily these days.

Kirby: (Happily Rubs the Back of his Head Back and Forth) Poyo Poyo Poyo.

Riku: (Watches Kirby and Marie Chatting and Giggling Among One Another Along with Donald Standing Next to Him) So, you're friends with an actual celebrity now, eh Donald?

Donald: (Proudly Nodded) Yep. I helped hid her away in a nearby coffee shop, rabid fans, chasing her all day while back. We chat and drank coffee for hours on end, have a few things in common and we became best of pals ever since.

Riku: Neat. She seems pretty nice.

Donald: (Smiles Softly of his Bew Found Friend) The nicest. She's really cool too. Even more so than King Mickey!

Riku: (Raises an Eyebrow at the Royal Mage While Smirking) Is that right?

Donald: Yep! (Points at Riku Without Even Looking at Him) Don't tell him I said any of that.

Riku: (Crosses his Arms) Lips are sealed.

Maria: Hey, guys. Ypu mind coming over here fpr a second? Kirby wants us to take a quick group selfie.

Kirby: Poyo!

Riku: Sure. (Walks Over to Marie and Kirby Along with Donald)

Donald: Where do you want us to stand?

Maria: (Motions Donald to Come Over While Carry Kirby With One Arm) You, stand next to me- (Points to Riku) While you can stand behind the rest of us. Maybe kneel down a knee so I could get the full shot.

Riku: (Gets Behind the Group Before Kneeling One Knee Down) Like this?

Marie: (Simply Nodded to Riku) Perfect. (Turns Back to Kirby's Phone She's Been Holding Up in Front of Her and the Boys) Now, we're ready to take the picture in three.....two....one-

Marie/Donald/Kirby: (Puts on Bright Smiles as They All Blurt Out) STAY FRESH!~/ POYO POYO!~

Riku: Stay-

'Click'

The group phone is now shown on Kirby's phone.

Marie: (Takes a Look at the Picture Itself Along with Donald) Hm. This came out a lot better than I thought it would.

Donald: Finally. A picture where my eyes aren't closed for once.

Riku: (Looks Down at Kirby) What do you think, Kirby? Looks decent enough to you?

Kirby: (Happily Nodded) Poyo Poyo. (Turns Back to Marie) Poyo Poyopoyo.

Marie: (Smiles Back at Kirby as She Gives him His Phone Back) No, thank you for taking the time out of your day to greet us in return. I'm eternal grateful. (Turns to Donald) Ready to go, Donald?

Donald: (Simply Nodded to Matie) You bet-

Riku: Wowowoah hang on. I need a favor to asked you two.

Marie/Donald: (Turns to Each Other For a Brief Second) Hmmmmmm.......(Turns Back to Riku With Raised Eyebrows From Both Sides) We're listening.....

Riku: Kirby and I are playing Paintball Wars with the rest of our friends right now and it's me and Kirby against the four of them, completely unbalanced match up if you ask me by the way-

Marie: And you're wondering if Donny and I could team up with you in the meantime.

Kirby: (Surprised and Impressed by How Quickly Marie Managed to That Exact Conclusion Along with Riku) Poyoooo!

Riku: Y-Yeah, exactly-

Donald: Sorry. That's a no-go, fellas.

Riku: (Eyes Widened by Donald's Quick Answer) What? Why not?

Donald: Cause this is war. Can't go around teaming any randos you meet and see around here.

Riku: Rando- Donald, we've known and fought alongside each other for years now. That's a good enough reason for us to team up!

Donald: True, but have either of you ever been in a paintball fight before?

Riku: Well......No. This is our first time do this kinda thing actuall-

Donald: Then, there ya go! (Crosses his Arms While Turning Away From Riku) We don't work with rookies out here.

Marie: (Gives her Duck Friend a Bit of a Disapproving Look on her Face) Donald.

Donald: (Shrugs at Marie) What? I'm just saying.

Marie: (Sighs Before Turning Back to Riku and Kirby With a Softer Look) What my loud, stubborn, hard headed partner meant to say-

Donald: (Glares at Marie) HEY!

Marie: -Is that the two of us has already done this kind of song and dance together for a good while now that we hardly ever think about teaming up with anyone out there

Donald: (Wraps his Arm Around Marie's) It's us against the world and we're sticking to it to the very end.

Marie: (Happily Nodded to Donald) That's right.

Other Container: (In the Distance) Keep trail on the squid and duck's footprints, boys! They can't be too far from here.

Donald: Well, whaddya know? Those palokas are finally on to us.

Marie: ('Scoffs') About time. (Forms a Mischievous Smirk on her Face) I think it's high time we give 'em a warm welcome, don'tcha think?~

Donald: (Forms Mischievous Smirk of his Own) I thought you never asked.

Marie: (Turns Back to Riku and Kirby) Sorry, boys, but we're about to be pretty occupied at any moment now. You'd understand, right?

Kirby: (Happily Nodded) Poyo.

Riku: ('Sighs in Defeat') Yeah. Give 'em hell or whatever.

Marie: (Smiles Softly) Thank you. (Turns to Donald) You heard the man, Donny. Let the chaos begin.

Donald: Ohh boy!

Both Donald and Marie let out their respectively loud battle cries as they run out to their potential victims with their paint guns in tact.

Riku: And now we're back to square one. Joy.

Kirby: (Gently Pats on Riku's Leg) Poyopoyo Poyo Poyo.

Riku: True. We made it this far without getting hit. (Smiles a Bit) Our chance of winning might be in the rise so long as we don't get-

'Clicks'

Kirby: (Gets Startled Before Quickly Hiding Behind Riku's Leg)

Riku: (Slouches his Upper Body Down a Notch With a Deadpinned Look on his Face at the Very Group He Was Running Away From) Caught.

Sora: (Pointing his Paintgun at the Duo Along with the Rest of his Team) Hiya, fellas!~ (Puts on a Sly Smirk on his Face) Didn't think we'd find you this soon, did ya?

Pit: (Happily Pulls his Phone Out of his Pants Pocket) It only took one, teensy tracking chip on Kirby's hat, to get to you guys.

Kirby takes his hat off his head and finds a small red light blinking inside.

Pit: H-He gets lost pretty easily.

Kirby: (Puts on an Annoyed Look of his Very Own) Poyo........

Viridi: (Gives Kirby a Soft Sisterly Glare) Don't get all moody with us, mister. You know this is for your own good. (Points at Riku) And don't you even THINK about summoning your Keyblade again, wise guy!

Kairi: (Glares at Her Boyfriend) Damn right or so HELP ME, I am going to cry my entire eyes out! And we all know how much you hate that.

Riku: (Simply Nodded in Agreement) Very true. Not a fan of seeing ypu and Sora sad in general. (Looks Down at Kirby as He Receives a Silent Nod Frim Him Before Turning Back to the Others) But before we all do anything rash, I must ask you all to calm down, relax- (Picks Kirby Up From the Ground and Holds Him In Front of Him) And bear witness to this adorable child before you!!

Kirby: (Puts on the Most Adorable Look Imaginable) Poyo~

Pit: (Eyes Widened in Fear) Oh no. He's using Kirby's cuteness against us!

Viridi: (Trying her Hardest to Resist Along With her Everyone of her Teammates) That conniving, clever jerk......

Riku: Yeah, that's right. Adorable, isn't he? You wouldn't dare shoot him down, now would you?

Kirby: Poyo~ (Let's Out a Cute Giggle)

Kairi: (Trying Her Very Hardest Not to Crack Under Pressure) Stay strong, people! Do not give in to the cuteness temptation!

Sora: Easier said then that! I wanna hug him already

Kairi: (Turns to Sora) We ALL want to hug Kirby, Sora, but we still have a prime objective to complete, remember!?

Riku: (,Casually Shrugs) No shame in giving in now. We'd understand.

Kirby: (Happily Nodded in Agreement) Po-

'Ratatatat'

Kirby: YO!? (Gets Startled Before Realizing He Got Hit a Few Times on the Chest and Slowly Looking Up to the Culprit Himself)

Vantias: Whoops. (Casually Walks By) Sorry, my hands slip.

Kirby: (Eyes Widened in Disbelief at What Just Happened Before Jumping Off an Equally Suprised Riku's Grasps) Poy......Poyo Poy.......

The gang looks down at Kirby for a brief second before looking back at Riku, smirking at him again.

Riku: (Puts on an Awkward Smile) I-I'm.....that hit didn't really count, really? I mean, it can't possibly- ('Sighs in Defeat') Oh forget it-

Before Riku could even begin to finish his sentence, the gang wasted no time at all shooting him down with multi- four colored paintballs. It was a long time coming for sure, but after all these years of sulking, Sora and Kairi has finally beaten Riku at his own game for once.

@decibelcoatl

@italian-love-cake

@ma-lemons

@bestpony666

[hauntfcrged]

@losinmortalesperdidos / corvinus sent a starter.

"Lorrrraine..." At first, it seemed that the cawing coming out of the crow's beak just sounded like the name of a woman behind the window. The crow was sitting on the thick branch of a tree and looked directly at her with one or the other pale eye tilting its head left and right. "Lorrrrrraine. LORRRAINE!" Suddenly it flapped its wings and flew away, but a moment after a tall man stepped from behind the tree and leaned against it. His eyes were pale and glowed slightly in the twilight.

She had been so engrossed in writing that it had taken until the second, insistent call of her name to pull her attention out of the letter that she had been composing - she'd promised Ed a letter every day, and she hadn't broken that streak yet - and she found herself frowning as she tried to find the source of the sound. Sat at her parent's kitchen table, she'd had the house to herself (a rarity) ... or so she'd thought?

When her name echoes, it takes her only a moment to follow it to its source, brows creeping together, the small furrow of confusion denting her forehead as she watches the crow take flight. Had it been lurking on the homestead? Learned her name somehow? That puzzled her; surely she would have seen it before now --

A sharp breath pulls in, eyes widening as her gaze follows the new movement to its source, fingers tightening against the pencil in hand with enough force to crack it, a trickle of ice tracing her spine as her eyes met his, so clearly not human. Suddenly, the knowledge that she was alone was far from the comfort it had been a moment before. Lips moved, a near silent recitation of the Lord's prayer, a reminder that she was not actually alone.

Sometimes, if she closed her eyes, and prayed, and waited, they would disappear. Something in her knew that wouldn't happen, this time, but that didn't stop her from trying.

He was still there, just as she'd expected, when she opened her eyes. A breath exhaled, drawn in, slow, almost steady, and she dropped the two halves of the pencil onto the table, reaching instead for the rosary that sat beside her, curling it into her hand as she stood and walked (albeit a little stiffly) towards the door, opening it and stepping onto the side porch of her family's home. "I -- don't know who you are, or what you want," she spoke, her voice wavering a great deal more than she wanted it to, and she took a moment's pause to force it steady. "But you are not welcome here."

[lesbifriemds]

Just a simple story about neteyam being possessive enjoy

I wanted to change this a little bit so yeah sorry 😅

Once upon a time in the mystical world of Pandora, where nature thrived in all its glory, there lived a noble Na'vi warrior named Neteyam. He was known for his strength, courage, and fierce loyalty to his people. Neteyam's heart, however, belonged to a beautiful Na'vi woman named Y/N. They had been mates for many years, sharing a deep bond forged through their love and shared experiences.

Neteyam was proud to call Y/N his mate, and he would protect her with unwavering devotion. However, as time went on, a possessive streak began to emerge within Neteyam. He grew increasingly protective of Y/N, fearing that he might lose her to another suitor or some unknown danger lurking in the shadows of Pandora.

Neteyam wasn't always protective of y/n until the incident happen.

As the night settled in, a tense atmosphere filled the air. Suddenly, the tranquil gathering was interrupted by the sound of rustling leaves and an eerie growl emanating from the shadows. Before anyone could react, a large beast, with sharp claws and glowing eyes, emerged from the darkness, lunging towards Y/N.

Fear flashed across Y/N's face as she stumbled backward, unable to evade the creature's attack. Its claws left deep scratches across her arm, causing her to cry out in pain. The surrounding Na'vi gasped, frozen in shock as the beast prepared for another assault.

Neteyam's possessiveness transformed into an instinctive surge of protective fury. Without hesitation, he swiftly drew an arrow from his quiver, his focus honed on the menacing creature. His voice rang out with determination, cutting through the chaos.

"Stay back!" Neteyam commanded, his tone filled with both authority and concern.

With precision and strength, he released the arrow, striking the beast's shoulder, causing it to recoil in pain. Taking advantage of the distraction, Neteyam rushed towards Y/N, placing himself between her and the injured creature. His eyes blazed with an unwavering resolve to shield her from any further harm.

"Y/N, are you alright?" Neteyam's voice trembled with a mix of worry and relief as he assessed her injuries.

Y/N, clutching her wounded arm, nodded, her voice laced with gratitude. "Thank Eywa you're here, Neteyam. That was too close."

Y/N, who was kind-hearted and understanding, noticed the change in Neteyam's behavior. She loved him deeply and knew that his possessiveness stemmed from a place of fear and love rather than malice. However, she also recognized the importance of individual freedom and independence within their relationship. She yearned for Neteyam to trust her implicitly and respect her choices.

On a certain day, Y/N set out on a personal quest deep within the mystical Pandora forest. Her intention was to locate medicinal herbs. However, Neteyam, consumed by his possessive nature, adamantly insisted on accompanying her, unable to contain his desire to protect her.

Neteyam's brows furrowed, concern etched across his face. "But Y/N, I worry for your safety. The forest can be unpredictable, and I cannot bear the thought of something happening to you."

Y/N placed a reassuring hand on Neteyam's arm, looking into his eyes with love and understanding. "I appreciate your concern, my brave warrior, but I have ventured into these woods many times before. I promise to stay cautious and return unharmed. Trust in me, as I trust in you."

Reluctantly, Neteyam nodded, his grip on Y/N's hand tightening momentarily before he released it. "Very well," he replied, his voice laced with a mix of anxiety and affection. "But promise me, my mate, that you will not take unnecessary risks."

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes shimmering with affection. "I promise, Neteyam. I will tread carefully and keep my senses sharp. I will find what I need and return to you as swiftly as the wind."

Neteyam watched as Y/N disappeared into the dense foliage, his heart pounding with a mixture of love, worry, and trust.

Time seemed to crawl, and Neteyam's mind was plagued with worry and doubt. He questioned his possessiveness and whether it was hindering their relationship.

As the days turned into nights, Neteyam's patience wore thin, his worry for Y/N consuming him. Unable to shake off his possessive nature completely, he found himself constantly on edge, yearning for her safe return. It was during this time of mounting anxiety that news reached his ears—a fellow Na'vi girl had been attacked and badly injured.

Neteyam's heart sank at the thought of such violence befalling another member of their community. He knew he had to take action and protect those who couldn't defend themselves. With a renewed sense of purpose, he set out to investigate the incident, his mind filled with a mixture of concern for Y/N and the determination to ensure the safety of their clan.

Upon arriving at the scene, Neteyam's eyes widened in shock and anger. The injured Na'vi girl lay on the forest floor, her body marked with bruises and her spirit visibly shaken. He knelt down beside her, his voice filled with urgency and compassion.

"What happened?" Neteyam's voice resonated with a mixture of concern and firmness.

Through gritted teeth, the girl managed to recount the harrowing incident. She described the attackers, their motives, and the depths of their cruelty. Neteyam's jaw clenched, a fierce protectiveness surging through him.

Neteyam's heart pounded in his chest, his worry for Y/N reaching its peak. Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, he decided to venture into the vast forest in search of her. His footsteps were determined, his mind racing with thoughts of her safety.

"Y/N!" Neteyam's voice reverberated through the dense foliage, each call carrying a mix of concern and desperation. "Where are you?"

His calls echoed back to him, the forest seemingly swallowing his words. Panic threatened to consume him, but he forced himself to stay focused, scanning the surroundings for any sign of Y/N.

"Neteyam?" A faint voice reached his ears, causing his heart to leap with relief. He followed the sound, maneuvering through the thick undergrowth until he spotted Y/N, standing by a crystal-clear stream.

Neteyam rushed towards her, his eyes wide with worry. "Y/N! I've been searching for you. Are you alright?"

Neteyam's heart raced as he closed the distance between them, his eyes scanning Y/N's form for any signs of further harm. He reached out to gently touch her injured arm, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"Y/N! I've been searching for you. Are you alright?" Neteyam's words came out in a breathless rush, his worry palpable.

Y/N winced as his touch grazed the scratches on her arm but managed a reassuring smile. "Neteyam, I'm alright. It looks worse than it is. Just a few scratches."

Neteyam's brows furrowed with lingering worry, his grip on her arm tightening ever so slightly. "I should have been there to protect you. I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt."

Y/N placed her free hand on top of Neteyam's, offering him a comforting touch. "Neteyam, accidents happen. It wasn't your fault. I appreciate your concern, but remember, I am capable of taking care of myself too."

Neteyam sighed, a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety intertwining in his voice. "I know you're strong, Y/N. It's just that seeing you hurt... I can't bear it. I feel this need to shield you from every danger."

Y/N's gaze softened, her voice filled with understanding. "I know your intentions come from a place of love, Neteyam. But trust is essential in our relationship. Trust that I can handle myself, trust that I will reach out for help if I need it. We are partners, and together we can face any challenge that comes our way."

Neteyam's eyes met Y/N's, a mix of vulnerability and determination reflected in his gaze. "You're right, Y/N. I need to trust in your abilities and respect your independence.

Y/N smiled, touched by Neteyam's willingness to change and grow. "Thank you, Neteyam. Trust is the key to our love flourishing. I believe in us."

Neteyam took a deep breath, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise to work on my possessiveness, to give you the space and freedom you deserve. Our love should empower us both, not hold us back."

Y/N nodded, her heart filled with warmth. "And I promise to communicate my needs and fears openly, so we can navigate any challenges together."

Their hands still intertwined, they turned towards the vibrant Pandora forest, the moonlight casting a gentle glow upon their faces. In that moment, a renewed sense of harmony surrounded them, a harmony born from understanding and growth.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Neteyam and Y/N embarked on a journey of love and self-discovery. Their relationship blossomed with each passing day, strengthened by trust, communication, and mutual respect.

The Na'vi community observed Neteyam's transformation with admiration and support, seeing how his dedication to change brought about positive growth in their clan. The once-wary gazes of their fellow Na'vi were replaced with smiles and encouragement, as they witnessed the harmony restored within the community.

Neteyam's protectiveness remained, but it was now balanced with a newfound trust in Y/N's strength and capabilities. He stood by her side as a pillar of support, his love shining through in every gesture, yet allowing her the freedom to chart her own path.

Together, Neteyam and Y/N became an inspiration to their clan, a testament to the power of love, understanding, and personal growth. Their journey proved that possessiveness could be overcome, replaced by a deep and abiding love that uplifted both individuals within the relationship.

And so, as the sun set over the Pandora forest, Neteyam and Y/N stood hand in hand, the beauty of their love radiating from within. They were a beacon of hope, reminding their community that love could thrive when nurtured by trust, communication, and the willingness to grow together.

With hearts entwined, they looked toward the future, ready to face any challenges that came their way, knowing that their love was a testament to the beauty of change and the strength of their bond. In their embrace, they found solace, knowing that their love story was one of resilience, harmony, and the triumph of love over possessiveness.

[nanamikentoseyebags]

BLOOD & CIGARETTES

will you be there to wipe the blood from his shuttered lip?

pairing: shinichiro sano x gn!reader

content: blood & cigarettes & kisses, swear words, angsty!

a/n: wanted to write a short drabble for my dear @luvjiro and their request but it turned out longer than i expected lol. anyways hope you like it zen! <3

Everything around was appallingly disgusting: the unending dirt and dampness, the trees bending beneath the piercing wind, and the masses of people scurrying about. The low shredded clouds drifted across the dark gray sky at an unprecedented speed, alternately casting a freezing downpour on the city, which was sinking into a disturbing slumber.

With enviable swiftness your frail figure moved through the streets flooded with people and streams of water, disregarding the massive splashes that flew in every direction and landed on the clothes of passersby with every step you took. You ran with the wind, naïvely hoping, deep in your heart, that you might be on time. Your drenched clothes unpleasantly clung to your body, causing a swarm of goosebumps to crawl across your skin, as your teeth treacherously started to beat out a steady rhythm.

***

You spent the whole evening trying to find out where Shinichiro had gone with such urgency and determination, forgetting his jacket and phone as he went, briefly kissing you on the lips and disappearing behind the door. But there was no one to give you the answer. Attempting to call all of his friends, whose phones were ironically out of range, you intuitively knew what kind of business caused him to leave the confines of your apartment so quickly.

You sat on the couch with your knees to your chest, rocking numbly from side to side, and kept your eyes on the phone screen, waiting for someone to call you back. All in vain. Efforts not to think about the bad things were also unsuccessful. Bloody scenes, one scarier than the other, flashed through your mind with frightening frequency, consuming you in their brutal torture.

A few hours of mental anguish had passed, and you were about to doze off, exhausted and devastated, leaning against the back of the couch, when suddenly the screen of your phone lit up, showing a message that came from an unknown number. Sleep vanished as if by hand; you grabbed the phone immediately, studying the text of the message. There was no explanation, only the address where the fight was to take place.

***

Your damp hair was sticking to your face, you bumped into passersby on the run, seeing almost nothing in front of you, but quietly apologizing you continued on your way, as if guided by someone else. You seemed to cover the distance in a matter of minutes, but when you turned into the needed street, you didn't find anyone.

Inside the poorly lit, narrow alleyway it smelled of mildew and soot. Bags of garbage scattered around were gnawed on by rats, creating a nauseating scene. The gray concrete walls were streaked with arrows of rain, and the sky, just as gray, reflected in the shallow puddles. In the distance, steam was pouring from sewer manholes, obscuring the horror that lurked in the darkness.

Suddenly your gaze stopped on something white, you squinted and took a couple of tentative steps toward it, trying to make out the outline of a person. With both worry and terror your heart missed a few beats. Then started to beat rapidly, pounding in your ears. You rushed from your place in the direction of the blurred silhouette, in which you could recognize the man you'd been desperately searching for.

Shin was sitting on the wet ground, his back against the wall, the left side of his face stained with blood, small droplets continuing to drip from his shattered lip, falling onto his pearly-white T-shirt, unrelentingly leaving scarlet marks on it. His damp hair clung to his forehead, making it impossible to fully discern his face. His hands remained on the ground, exposing his blood-caked knuckles.

Running up to him, you fell straight to your knees, carefully taking his face in your hands and scanning him for even more injuries. He shuddered, dumbfoundedly staring at you, unable even to ask such important questions that got stuck in his throat, whether from pain or unbearable fatigue. You repeated his name like a spell, running your thumbs over his cheeks, gently wiping away the drops of blood and frightenedly scrutinizing his skin.

"'Tis okay," his quiet husky voice cut through the air, a faint smirk playing on his lips as your hands began to gingerly grope his battered body.

"'Tis not okay," you frowned, pressing your lips into a thin line, realizing that just a little longer and your voice would let you down and bitter tears would start dripping from your eyes. Trying to prove otherwise, Shin attempted to stand up, but his legs wouldn't listen, and he sank back down, squinting and cursing quietly under his breath.

You held him gently, brushing the blood-covered strands of hair from his forehead, looking anxiously at his split brow and bruised, swollen eye. "You said they would solve it without you, you said you weren't going anywhere. Why didn't you tell me the truth? What if they would have ended you today?" you bit your lip, struggling to keep your emotions at bay, but the tone of your voice, sometimes snapping into a scream, said it all for you.

"I just didn't want to scare you, I hoped it would go... better," he smiled awkwardly, stroking your hand, assuring you that nothing was wrong.

"You should have told me, I would have gone with you...I would have...," you fell silent, in your head searching for one good reason why he should have taken you with him.

"You would have kicked everyone's ass," he grinned, spitting blood and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "I just had mercy on them."

"'Stupid...,' you sniffed softly, clearly not appreciating his suddenly awakened sense of humor at a moment like this. But you moved closer, carefully wiping the corner of his lips and whispering, "I was so scared for you," before pulling him in a soft, cautious kiss. The kiss soaked in fear and pain, relief and longing. Your lips moved in perfect unison, his bloodied hand finding its place in your hair while the other gently stroked your side. The metallic taste of blood on your tongue mingled with the aftertaste of his cigarettes. Yet there was no way you would pull away, because, well, that's exactly the way his love tasted.

tags: @a-nuisance-called-sam &lt;3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mark of the Beast

Please be kind. I haven’t written werewolves before and this is an unedited drabble I did to distract myself. Hope you enjoy werewolf!Thor and needless to say it’s dark.

Reblog and comment if you like, please and thank you.

Warnings: noncon and rape, exophilia, blood, biting.

You sat along the edge of the yard, just at one of those picnic tables set with chips, salsa, and other finger foods; most of it crumbs and smears as the night wore on. The fire licked up into the sky as the strangers chatter drunkenly, laugh loudly, and sing and dance wildly to the music floating from the bassy bluetooth speaker.

Parties were never your scene and you don’t know why you agreed to come. You didn’t even know why you were asked. You never were the fun friend, hell you were often the forgotten one. The one who found out they weren’t invited or when you were privileged enough to be asked along, it was because someone else fell through.

Well you couldn’t take another night in your boxy apartment, sitting there alone as you watched the same shows over and over again. Restless as nothing ever seemed to change and yet time continued to pass you by.

You noticed how as the sky darkened, the guests began to couple up and trickle away from the flames of the tiki torches and the empty keg. You thought this kind of thing was better left to college kids. 

The early summer night was cool and dull blue as clouds streaked the sky. You hadn’t seen the sun directly since noon and it cast an odd haze over the party. Even so, there had been much screaming and shrieking on the oversized slip and slide. Again, these people, you included, were too old to be throwing their drunken bodies around.

Valerie giggled as she hung off the slender man with the black hair. He wore a green button up and black jeans. His clothes were pressed and pristine. He looked out of place amid the group. He looked like you felt.

She grabbed his collar and led him away from the few stragglers still grinding around to the retro tones of TLC. You stood as she headed for the trees. She was your ride and you didn’t feel like staying all night so she could get laid by some stranger. You didn’t even know how she got invited to this.

The sky shifted and dimmed a little more. You collided with a large body as you made to catch up with Valerie. You recognized the blonde man. He’d been lurking throughout the night, socializing over the top of red plastic cup, at one point chatting with the black-haired man Valerie was flirting with and helping tap the keg when it was overturned in some dumb stunt.

“Oh, excuse me,” you said as his large hand settled on your arm, “um, I’m just…”

“You don’t like the party?” he asked in his booming voice.

“What? No, I--”

“You’ve been hiding over here all night,” he said, “and you haven’t looked very happy about it.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you countered.

“Well, this is my party,” he said lightly, “Thor.”

He removed his hand from your arm and offered it to you. You looked at it reluctantly then glanced around him.

“I’m here with my friend. We should probably go--”

“The one who just disappeared with my brother?” he chuckled, “I don’t think you want to walk in on that.”

“Then maybe I’ll just call a cab,” you shrugged, “but I should get--”

“Why did you come? To glower in the corner and feel sorry for yourself?”

“No, I… you don’t know me.”

“No, I do not but that is not my doing. You sit here and isolate yourself to the point that anyone who approaches you, cannot break that barrier you’ve put up. The one you blame on those around you but you’re the only one enforcing it,” his blue eyes were pale, almost silver as the clouds darkened, and you realised in that moment how big he was.

“I didn’t ask for your--”

“You wouldn’t know what to ask for if you found the nerve,” he gave a crooked smile, “you don’t know what you want, what you need.”

He leaned in as his voice turned to a growl, something animalistic as he leaned in and his shadow shut out the sky.

“I know I want to leave,” you said as you stepped back, only to hit the low bench behind you.

“Did you not notice?” he asked.

“Notice what?” you sidled along the wood and he stopped you, this time his fingers gripped your arm tightly.

“That everyone else is gone. They’ve found their mate…” he lowered his voice to a gristle, “the moon is close and they must consummate their pairing.”

“What are you--” you gasped as you saw the way his canines pointed dangerously and grazed along his lip.

“All in my pack made their claim,” he whispered as he leaned in and the silver moon flickered behind the wisping clouds, “I’m making mine.”

“Get off--”

Suddenly you were spun around and flung so you landed in the grass, your knees and the heels of your hands scraping against the twigs and pebbles. Before you could try to stand or turn, he was behind you. His large hands braced your throat and he pulled you onto your knees so that your back was to his torso as he lowered himself behind you.

His nose tickled your ear as he inhaled your scent and a growl crackled in his throat. His fingers tightened and you felt sharp claws prodding at your flesh. His breath picked up as you felt his body tremble. The clouds parted at last and the full moon painted the grass silver.

“You have no purpose, I see it,” his voice grinded roughly, “you are lost but I have found you…”

“Let me--” you rasped and wheezed as he choked you harder.

“You don’t know. How can you realise that I have chosen you for a greater need?” he slid one hand to the back of your neck and pushed you down sharply so that you were face down in the grass, “I can smell it on you… ripe for a pup.”

He flipped your over harshly and his hand pressed to your jaw as he squeezed it painfully. You grasped his wrist in terror as the moon limned the fine fur that had risen across his skin, his long blonde hair blending into his thick main as his eyes glowed eerily.

“I… I...what are you?”

“What are you?” he repeated back, “can you tell me that?”

“Please, don’t--”

“You’re mine,” he snarled as he dragged a long nail over your shirt and sliced through the fabric easily, his other hand still framed your jaw, “if you survive, you will carry my pup, if you don’t… an honourable death.”

You slapped at his hand as his fingers hooked in the front of your jeans and he janked them down in a single motion. Your panties caught in the denim as he brought his foot up to push them down to your ankles. He pushed his knee between your thighs and dug a nail into your hip. Hot blood rose around his claw.

“I can smell it all. The loneliness, the desperation, the fear… it’s delicious.”

His claw flicked over your clit lightly as he pushed your folds apart. He played with you as you squirmed helplessly and gripped his arm, one hand on his wrist and the other on his bicep.

“No, no--” you murmured as your body went into shock, the pleasure of his teasing like a muffled shout in your core.

When his hand moved from your cunt, you felt its absence more intensely. He brought his other knee between your legs and pushed them further apart until your jeans slipped from one ankle. He lifted your left leg and hooked his arm under it and leaned on you as he lined himself up.

You pushed on his chest as the moonlight limned his silhouette above you and clenched as he prodded against your entrance. He cradled your face and dropped his head down beside yours as he pinned you under his weight, your leg bent uncomfortably as your other splayed against his hip.

He poked at your resistance and when he finally pushed through, you cried out into the night. He was thick, so thick, and when you thought you could handle no more, he pushed further in. You strained around his cock as he snapped his hips up and when he filled you entirely, you whimpered as you felt him in your stomach.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as his hot breath tickled along the crook of your neck. He pulled back and you let go of the breath in your chest only to suck it back in as he thrust sharply. You whined as he jolted your entire body and sank his teeth into your flesh. The shock of pain mingled in your core and filled your veins with an irresistible heat. He removed his fangs from you and dragged his bloodied lips down your neck.

“If you fight it, you will suffer,” he purred, “give in… you feel it, don’t you?”

He rutted faster as his breath kept time with his hips. Your body was alight against the cool grass as your eyes rolled back. Your moans added to your horror as they rose without thought, roused by the friction of his pelvis against yours and the slapping of flesh on flesh.

He fucked you faster and harder with each tilt and held your head between two hands as he looked down at you. His thumbs rubbed your cheekbones as he kissed you hungrily and the taste of your own blood stained your lips.

You felt hollow and light. The weight of him faded and you were on high and your lashes fluttered as the silver nights and his dark shadowed coloured your vision. You curled your fingers over your chest as you came and arched beneath him like a wild animal. The orgasm sent heat through you from head to toe and you whined and whimpered desperately.

Thor hammered into you even harder and his growls filled your head. He snaked his arm under you and slammed his hips down so viciously that every bone in your body ached.

“Oh, little one,” he snarled, “you take me so well…” his thumb brushed over the bite on your neck, “you wear my mark like a true bitch.”

He buried himself completely and panted rampantly as he spasmed. His cum flooded you and seeped and squelched around him as he gave a final thrust. He held himself as deep as he could and nuzzled your cheek as the smell of his sweat filled your lungs.

“Mine,” his teeth brushed against you and you shivered as a sudden fatigue weighted your eyelids, “that’s it…” his voice grew further and further away, “let it take you, little one.”

[foli-vora]

counting stars

A/N: I apologise if this is a mess—I’ve just written this on my phone while camping in the middle of nowhere 😅 truly inspired by the outdoors hahah. Yes I’m sitting incredibly still in a spot that I found had cell service so I can upload this because I’m Impatient™️.

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: depressive thoughts, insecurities, A SICKENING AMOUNT OF FLUFF

+++

The truck’s packed. That’s the first thing you notice when you pull into the driveway, eyeing the bags chucked neatly in the bed of the vehicle. The brief sharp stab of panic that impales your heart is drowned by a sickening twist of understanding. Of course he’d leave — why would he want you? Why would he waste time being with you when he could do so much better? You don’t blame him. You wouldn’t get in his way of leaving.

The sigh that leaves you as you exit your car is long and drawn out, each step towards the house drains the low level of energy you had leftover after your shift and you wonder if you’ll be in Frankie’s way if you take up the couch to sleep. Will he want to take the couch? He had bought it, after all. The bed, then. He wouldn’t leave you without a bed — maybe he’ll come back for it tomorrow.

Frankie’s coming down the stairs when you walk through the door, a dark backpack slung over his shoulder and Mena giggling in his arms. God you’re gonna miss those little giggles. He smiles when he sees you, dropping the bag next to a bright pink unicorn one on the floor before striding over to you.

You’re stumped when he slings an arm around your waist and brings you in close, hips bumping together, and Mena immediately dives in to press a wet kiss against your cheek. He kisses the other, sharing a little smile with his little girl before looking at you.

“You’ve got 10 minutes to pack some clothes.” He says, and you blink, stomach rolling.

Oh. Maybe he was packing your stuff.

Of course, it’s his house.

It’s in his truck because you couldn’t possibly fit everything in your car. He was helping you move out. He didn’t have to—you could have called a removal company or something. He shouldn’t have to go out of his way, especially with Mena.

You’re sullen as you answer, brushing past him with a quiet okay. The stairs are hard to climb, but eventually you reach your bedroom. You try not to look at the photos lining the walls—pictures of Mena, of her with Frankie or you, of all three of you, of you and Frankie snuggled together on various dates and trips, scribbles deemed masterpieces plastered proudly in expensive frames. Maybe you could ask for a few copies, or take the originals if he was just going to throw the ones of you away. Which he would, of course, why would he keep them?

He’s left a duffle on the bed for you—his old army one. He loves this one. He uses it for everything. You make a mental note to make sure to return it.

Tears choke your throat as you pack the bag, and it’s not until strong arms wind around your waist that they fall free. You won’t say no to a final hug. You try to memorise the tightness of his arms, the feel of his beard along your skin as he buries his face in your neck.

“You ready? Mena’s getting cranky,” you hear the chuckle in his voice and nod your head. He must feel the tension in your torso because immediately he’s turning you, frowning at the tears streaking your face. “What’s wrong, baby?” He’s gentle as he wipes them from your cheeks, the pinch between his brows deepening as your face crumbles in his hands.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit, sniffling quietly, “but I will if that’s what you want. You and Mena deserve better.”

“What?”

“It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not.” Soon your face is pressed hard against his chest and he’s crushing you, hand tight on the back of your head as he holds you. “You’re not going anywhere, not without us, anyway. We’re going on a trip. All three of us—together.”

A trip? Your mind is a whirl as you try to catch up. He wasn’t leaving you? Or, more accurately, you weren’t moving out? Suddenly the packed bags, especially Mena’s unicorn one, and packed truck make a little more sense to your darkened mind, and you instantly relax in his arms.

He pulls back, dark eyes sad as he studies your face.

Frankie had watched you the last few days; watched your mood sour, watched the bags below your eyes deepen. You’d barely been sleeping — he could feel you toss and turn all night, could feel the shudder in your shoulders as you tried to keep your sobs quiet in fear of waking him. He’d seen the look of utter defeat wash your face when you accidentally spilt the milk trying to make a coffee yesterday, seen the immediate glaze of tears as he wiped the spill away. You were gone before he could even turn and comfort you, the door slamming as you all but ran to your car.

He knew what was happening—could recognise the signs a mile away after having to defeat his own monster lurking in the back of his mind telling him he wasn’t good enough, reminding him of all the awful things he’d done in his life, what he’d done to others. He’d gone straight to work, said he wouldn’t be able to do any shifts on the weekend, and had left at lunch to start packing.

“I love you.”

Your face falls, head shaking in automatic denial.

“I do,” his touch is gentle, brushing more tears away with his thumbs. “I know you’ve been struggling lately. I’m sorry for not saying anything—I should’ve made it clear when you came home. We’re going camping for the weekend, unless you don’t feel up to it which is fine. We can just order a pizza, cuddle up on the couch and watch movies if that sounds better.” He smiles warmly, reassuringly, and you know in your heart that he really truly doesn’t mind what you decide to do.

How you ever landed Francisco Morales, you’ll never know.

“No, I want to go.”

“Are you sure? Please don’t be scared to say no—”

“I want to go.”

For the first time for what feels like all week, you smile, and actually mean it.

His eyes flick across your face, searching for any signs of hesitation, and then he grins, your eyes automatically falling to admire the dimple creasing his cheek. You kiss it instinctively, relief washing through you as your mind and hearts calms. He stops you as you pull away, leaning in and letting his nose run along yours before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

He helps you put some clothes together, and with the two of you, you’re packed within a few minutes. He holds your hand on the way down the stairs, but stops to collect all the bags while you grab the little girl pulling at your legs. She babbles to you excitedly as you follow Frankie out of the house, her little fingers habitually pulling and fiddling with the chain around your neck.

You try to fend off the overwhelming feelings of unworthiness while you listen to Frankie talk animatedly back to Mena as you buckle her into her car seat, her little voice loud and bubbly as she claps her hands and bounces in her seat. You try to smile, try to reassure yourself that Frankie loves you, that Mena loves you, but you struggle truly believing it. How could they?

Music’s soon blaring throughout the cab of the truck as the familiar houses of your neighbourhood fly past, the Spotify playlist Frankie spent a good hour finding and adding songs to filling the quiet. He sings along, grinning at Mena’s attempts to sing along in her own little language, and when he looks at you, eyes shining with adoration, your chest feels tight and constricted.

You really didn’t deserve these two.

It takes a couple of hours to get to Frankie’s favourite spot—somewhere familiar to you from the many times he had taken you there. The small clearing is the same as it always has been, the large logs still situated around a small burnt patch of ground where leftover charred logs sat from previous campers. Frankie’s quick to erect the tent and organise the bedding inside, and soon he’s joining you and Mena at the edge of the wide lake glowing under the fading sun.

She’s dancing in the sand, little bare feet kicking up the grains as she twirls and twists and giggles when she goes too far and her toes touch the cool water. You sink to the ground and hug your legs, content to watch her enjoy the last bit of sunlight before it sinks beneath the horizon with a longing to feel as wild and carefree as she does.

“Papa!”

Frankie answers her call with a loud playful growl, and soon she’s squealing as he chases her across the sandbank. He catches her, throws her over his shoulder and spins, laughing at her wild screams of delight as he tickles her sides. Your chest warms, and the smile tugging at your lips is automatic as Mena runs on unsteady legs back to you, curls bouncing in her pigtails as she escapes Frankie’s arms and bolts to you for safety.

“Mama!” She climbs into your arms and your face drops in shock, wide eyes blinking up at Frankie who’s stopped dead behind her. The grin that widens his face practically blinds you, his eyes immediately shining with a sheen of tears as he drops beside you and smothers you both with a hug, pressing loud kisses to wherever he could reach. Mena giggles, pulling away to look between the pair of you with sparkling dark eyes. Little arms wind around both you and Frankie as she cuddles you close, her little head falling tiredly against your chest.

You catch Frankie looking at you, and return his fond gaze, smiling shyly under his admiration. The three of you snuggle together as the sun disappears, throwing bright hues of pink and orange across the cloudy sky, and finally, the tight feeling in your chest lessens under the pressure of two pairs of loving arms. Finally—you feel like you can breathe.

Frankie pipes up soon after the sun sets, “Who’s hungry?”

Mena’s head pops up instantly, the sleepiness that was just weighing her body down seemingly vanishing at the mention of food. She wiggles off your lap, and runs back to the campsite leaving you and Frankie chuckling quietly to yourselves as you follow. He and Mena sit together while he builds a fire, and you hear him talk through the process, Mena watching with curious eyes as he stacks the wood and lights it.

You all stay huddled together as the chill of the night drops over the camp site, sharing quiet laughs and keeping Mena entertained until her eyes start to drop. You stay mostly quiet, happy to just witness the two loves of your life share in each other’s affections.

Soon you and Frankie are left alone once Mena succumbs to sleep, and he brings two cups out with his phone playing quiet music, wiggling the bottle of whiskey he had hidden in his bag mischievously after putting her down in the tent. He pours a generous amount into both before sinking onto the log beside you, watching the flames dance in the dark before nudging you softly.

“Talk to me, baby.”

Sighing, your finger traces the rim of the cup and you shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. I just... I haven’t been feeling like myself lately.”

He nods, “Has something happened?”

You purse your lips, thinking over the last few weeks. Nothing jumps out and you shrug again, frowning at the flames. “No. My head just... I don’t know. I’m happy with my life—I love you, more than anything, and Mena, too... my job is fine—everything’s fine, but... my head just...” you struggle to finish your sentence, frown deepening.

You’re not making any sense. You never make sense. How can you possibly turn the jumble of thoughts in your head into words and make him understand? You barely understood it all yourself. What did you have to be upset over? Your life was picture perfect. Perfect man, perfect daughter, perfect job, a home full of love... so many people had it worse. You shouldn’t feel the way you do.

You must’ve spoken aloud because the next minute Frankie is reaching for your hand, rubbing the skin soothingly.

“I get it.” He says quietly, shooting you a comforting smile when you blink up at him, tears filling your eyes. “Our minds can be cruel sometimes, but just because there are others out there who may have it worse doesn’t take away from how you feel. You matter, just as much as others.”

You don’t try to stop the tears that fall from your eyes, instead letting them fall down your cheeks in a heavy flow. He moves closer in response, moving the arm holding your hand around your shoulder and pulling you in close to his side. The warmth from his body seeps into yours and you take a shaky breath as the tears continue.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want to talk to someone? I know of a few good doctors around.”

Shaking your head, you lean your head on his shoulder and sigh deeply. “No, I think I’m alright for now, but if it gets worse...”

His arm tightens in response, and he nods quietly.

“I’m here for you, honey.” He murmurs, turning to kiss your forehead gently. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You smile through your tears, turning to gaze up at him gratefully. “Thank you, Frankie.”

Quiet conversation starts up once the flow of tears dies off, and soon he has you in fits of laughter, the whiskey loosening the last bits of tension from your frame as it warms your insides. When Frankie’s favourite song comes on, he’s up before you can even make a comment, holding a hand out to you with a wide grin once he throws back the last of his drink and tosses his cup aside without a care.

“What?” You ask, eyeing his open palm with a grin.

“Dance with me.”

How could you ever say no? You couldn’t. Not to him. Your grin turns shy as you take his hand, letting him pull you up and off the log and into his frame. He holds you close, arms winding securely around you as you sway softly. The stars catch your attention when you rest your head on his shoulder, and you feel a lump growing in the back of your throat when Frankie starts to softly sing in your ear. It’s not depressive thoughts that have you on the verge of tears this time. Instead, your heart is damn near bursting, the flood of love for this man so strong you have to stop yourself from squeezing him too tight.

Your eyes flick to watch a shooting star, but instead of making a wish, you tuck yourself impossibly closer to Frankie. You didn’t need a wish—you had everything you needed already.

+

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed

[volleychumps]

Hi! Can I request an one shot or head cannon with Akaashi and Iwaizumi where you’re manager at training camp and everyone decided it would be fun to go hiking nearby but you suddenly get lost and twist your ankle or something and when you run into them, you start to tear up from relief as they comfort you and piggy back you back.

« Finding You.

~ the one where you go missing for a night, prompting Akaashi Keiji to search for you despite the dangers lurking in the darkness

Format: One-shot

genre: fluff

- Akaashi Keiji x Reader

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

9:03pm

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”

“No, we should just go hiking when the sun is, I don’t know, out?” You glare at a smirking Konoha as Bokuto slings an arm around around your shoulders, pouting at you pleadingly as he bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“The other teams manager’s letting them go!!!” 

“What if you hurt yourself, Bo?” You frown, and Bokuto gasps before locking pinkies with you, staring you dead in the eye before crossing his heart with his finger. 

“I solemnly swear I will not get hurt, Y/N.” 

“Do you even know what solemnly means?” 

“Nope! Akaashi said it once though-” 

“I’m against this as well.” Akaashi puts a hand on the back of his neck, peering down at you as blue eyes notice the shift of your feet in place. “We can go exploring tomorrow-” 

“No.” You interject, noticing the immediate wilt of Bokuto’s shoulders before pinching the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily to yourself. “...we can go tonight. Some of you have way too much energy, maybe walking around will tire you guys out.” 

“‘Atta girl!” Konoha glomps you as Bokuto hugs your other side, and you laugh a bit as Komi and Sarukui go to gather the flashlights from the other teams-

A dark-haired setter the only one to notice the lilt of nervousness in your laugh among the chaos. 

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

10:12pm

“Y/N, do you want to hold my hand?” 

“Konoha, stop making moves on her, it’ll never happen.” 

“Shut it, Komi!” 

You force a chuckle, trudging along behind a talkative Bokuto as Akaashi strolls besides you, glancing at you once in a while as you keep your hands deep in your pockets, ensuring that no one would be able to see the nervous clench of your fists. Akaashi lifts another branch for you as you smile in thanks, eyes flitting around the dark as you swallow tightly. 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know. You could’ve stayed.” Akaashi’s talking before he can stop himself, and you blink at the abruptness of his words. 

You frown, laughing a bit at Akaashi’s usual polite tone before nudging the quiet boy with your shoulder once. 

“Careful, ‘Kaashi- you might make me think you don’t want me here.” 

Akaashi’s jaw clenched in the dark, noting the waver in your voice before making a calculative decision. His chest twinged as his lips parted, words slipping out quietly as the rest of the team laughed among themselves. 

“And what if I say I don’t?” 

Your feet slow, Akaashi walking ahead to merely glance back at you as the smile on your face completely disappears. 

“Am I...slowing you guys down?” Your hurt tone made Akaashi look forward, unwilling to see the flash of pain across your face as he wishes he could take it back-

“Yeah.” Akaashi says tightly, noticing the other boys have quieted down as well, the tension at the back of the group now noticeable as everyone seems to still. 

“No she’s not, Y/N don’t listen-!” 

“It’s alright, Bo.” You say softly, forcing a chuckle as you avoid everyone’s stares. “I’ll head back. I know the way.” 

“I’ll go with you.” The tension in Akaashi’s chest relaxes, and he begins to follow you before your snapped response makes him stop in his steps. 

“No. I want to go by myself. I might slow you down, Akaashi.” 

Akaashi opens his mouth to press the matter, but Konoha’s faster. He clasps the blue-eyed boy’s shoulder in annoyance, shaking his head with a you’ve done enough, gesture. You were already far now, and Akaashi stared wide-eyed after you-

his plan to get you back to safety completely backfiring. 

“Go, Akaashi, king of sucking the fun out of things.” Bokuto says childishly, nudging his friend a long as Akaashi casts another look into the now empty darkness behind him-

wishing he hadn’t said anything in the first place as he prays you reach the camp before they do. 

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

11:00pm

“Maaaan, I’m beat.” 

“We should thank Y/N for letting us go.” Bokuto yawns as the boys trudge towards the camp sluggishly. 

“Some of us have a lot of things to say to Y/N.” Konoha says carefully, refusing to glance in Akaashi’s direction before scoffing. “Let’s go make sure she got here safe, she should be sleeping by now.” 

Komi and Sarukui emerge a few moments later from the entrance of the girl’s dormitories, running frantically as Konoha blinks in confusion. Bokuto wipes the tiredness out of his eyes as the two boys pant out of breath. 

“Y/N never came back!” 

“What?! Shit, we have to go back-” 

“The teachers are out looking, right now-” 

Konoha laughs bitterly, gritting his teeth before spinning on his heel with an accusatory edge to his voice. “What the hell are you gonna do now....Akaashi?” 

But he was already gone.

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

12:01pm

It was dark. 

You didn’t know how many minutes or hours it had been, deciding to stay put instead of venturing further into your worst fear. All sense of direction lost, you had sat in a patch of daffodils, seeming to shine in the moonlight as you willed anyone to come. 

The pain in your ankle causes you to hiss as you stretch your leg out in front of you, unable to walk anymore. You stare up at the moon, fear now an exhausted emotion in your veins. 

Anyone. Please, anyone.

You should have pressed to stay with the group. You knew you wouldn’t be able to come back on your own, so why didn’t you? 

Akaashi’s face flashes in your head again as your eyes seem to well up with more unshed tears, wondering why his words had as big of an impact on you as they did. 

Keiji. The most sensible one on the team, always trailing besides you, the first to give you high-fives before matches. The one to remind the team of your birthday, always saving you the seat next to him at lunch under the trees. Keeping the boys in line when they show up for morning practice so you can take a much-needed rest, sometimes an extra breakfast packed away in his bag-

Why did it hurt so much coming from him? 

“Don’t kid yourself.” You whispered to yourself, realizing you were all alone. There were no feelings to hide in front of anybody anymore. Your face found your knee again, feeling the material of your pants wet with your tears. “You know why. You’re in love with him.”

You sniffle, feeling absolutely dumb. Feelings took precedence over your safety as you had stomped away, childishly not realizing Akaashi just wanted to bring you back to camp. Of course he noticed, what made you think he wouldn’t?

“And what if I say I don’t?” 

You whimper, digging your hands into the dirt beneath you, collecting strewn petals. 

“Keiji.” It was soft. Your tone was completely defenseless as you sobbed into your dirtied palms- 

“I’m here.” 

Your eyes snap open, head jolting up. You relax when you see that you had imagined it, not seeing anyone in front of you as you chuckle humorlessly. 

“I’m going insane.” You whisper-

a jacket with Fukurodani’s colors slipping over your vision. 

You gasp, taking the jacket laid across your head off your face to look up owlishly at a panting Akaashi, stripped off his team jacket as he stood in front of you in just a fitted black shirt. He bends at the knee, tilting his head at you as he finds stability in his voice despite the breathlessness. 

He felt punched in the stomach at the sight of dirt streaking your cheek, a trail of tears flowing from each eye freely as the look of fear on your face melts into one of relief. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“K-Keiji...” You blink, not believing the sight of the beautiful boy bent in front of you. Akaashi clears his throat, wiping some sweat from his brow before cupping your cheek gently, smiling softly when you lean into his touch. Your eyes well up with tears of relief before Akaashi tugs the material back over your eyes.

“You hate people seeing you cry, right?” 

“M-My ankle...” Is all you manage out, and you feel Akaashi assess the damage, frowning when the slightest touch makes you wince. The blue-eyed boy takes his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders instead before facing the opposite direction of you. You blink as he presents his back, glancing back at you with a softness in his eyes you can’t pinpoint. 

“Wrap your arms around my neck.” 

“I’m too heavy...” 

“You aren’t.” 

You shakily comply, feeling Akaashi carefully lift your legs before beginning to trudge a long. The silence was thick with unsaid words as you breathe in his scent, piggybacking on the setter as you struggle to find the right words. 

“Keiji-” 

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked as your eyes widen, and he pauses for a brief second within the silence. “Y/N, I just wanted...” 

“I know.” You cut him off with a hush, the pain in your ankle dulling to a slight throb. 

“I never meant-” 

“I know.” 

“...wanted to keep you safe-” 

“Keiji?” You cut him off a second time, and Akaashi stills his movements completely as you rest your head on his shoulder, the setter feeling tears wet his shoulder as you smile in the darkness. 

“Thank you for finding me.” You whisper, and Akaashi lets go of your good leg for a second to hastily wipe at his eyes. 

“Are you crying?” Your tone is teasing now, and the dark-haired boy scoffs, beginning to walk again. 

“Look who’s talking.” 

“Hey!” You protest, feeling his grip on your legs tighten ever so slightly. Akaashi glances back at you, and you gasp, pulling back a little on instinct from your place on his back. 

“Y/N.” 

“What?” You question hastily, embarrassed at the proximity as Akaashi’s lips stretch into a slight smirk. 

“If you’re gonna confess, confess to me, not when you think nobody’s listening.” 

Your face turns hot, the pain now unnoticeable as your eyes turn owlish, beginning to stutter excuses. 

12:36

Akaashi turns his head, blue eyes bright in the moonlight as he whispers against your lips. 

“Though I think you can guess my answer.” 

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046 @let-me-have-my-own-name @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite @curiouslilbeast @aprettyfruit @wisepandaslimeland @h0ngh0ngh0ng @lmkjimin @orangegiraffe7 @dai-tsukki-desu @kac-chowsballs @spikertrash @yamaguwuchi @lord-suneater-explosion @nekomawhore @holaaaf@babyybokutoakaashi @lexysclubhouse @disneyloving-muggle

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers Part 8 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

wc: 1.7k

tw: dark content (self-harm)

masterlist

a/n: By no means do I condone self-harm or want to glorify it in the light of this chapter. As a person who struggled with physical self-harm in her early teens, I know the destructive nature of this type of activity. However, as my characters are not perfect and complicated, I see this particular mode of action as something she would try to do in order to alleviate her pain and confusion. If you have questions or concerns, my inbox is always open to having a discussion about it.

If you so wish, you may skip this chapter altogether. There will be a recap on the next one if you choose to skip for your mental health. Take care of yourselves and see you soon. (ALSO, I know I promised smut but I gotta give y'all a raincheck this go-round. SORRY PLS DON'T KILL ME)

You're on your forty-seventh file of scandals, coverups, and secret dossiers that you finally feel it. The fabric of your identity begins to unravel right before your eyes.

Everything you've known is a lie.

The CSB has covered up so many things. So many lives lost. So many people forced to flee. So many families ripped apart--

An email makes its way over to the server, and you open it, the words across the screen coming from Suguru.

I know it's late, but send over Yu Haibara's files when you can.

You hit the reply button and begin to type out: "You mean the boy you killed?" but you stop yourself, deleting the words rapidly. Instead, you attach the files and send them over, not even bothering to look at them. You can't do it. Not another file could be stored away in the annals of your brain.

Nothing is as it seems anymore. The lies... they pile up in your mind, flooding the spaces where you used to hold what you thought was true, what you thought was real. Now, they're overflowing out of your brain and into your heart and soul, plaguing you like the nightmares that face you down night after night, more like demons that lurk in the corners of your mind than full file cabinets.

You always wake up in a tangle of sheets and sweat, one of your various enemies' faces hovering over you right before you stare down the barrel of a gun and --

You stumble out of the chair, eyes wet with tears, and go to the sink in the bathroom to wash your face. After you splash water on your skin, you look up at your reflection, anger rolling through you at the way you look. Weak.

You're fucking weak.

The voice in your head that usually told you that you were doing okay, that you had it all under control, is now turning on you, spitting nasty words that stick in between the synapses of your brain a muddy your rational thoughts.

The voices rise to a fever pitch, and you suddenly see red, the entirety of the world descending into blood-colored madness. The shattering of the glass mirror only becomes a reality when you're standing above the sink, chest heaving as your thoughts silence one by one, like shutting off lights in a house.

But only one stays behind as a shard of the mirror clinks into the sink.

Escape.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

You could get rid of the feelings here. You could get rid of the thoughts. You could escape. Why hadn't you thought about this before?

"Do it."

Your fingers grip the jagged shard of glass carefully, and before you can stop yourself, you drag it across the inside of your wrist, end to end, leaving behind a red line of blood that immediately blooms. Crimson dots drop into the sink, and you stare at the color, mesmerized by the way the blood runs down your arm and into the porcelain bowl. But there's no relief.

No sense of freedom.

Maybe you didn't do it hard enough?

Maybe you didn't--

The door to your room slams open, and you turn your head just as Suguru comes rushing into the bathroom. The shard of glass is still in your hand, as well as the blood running down your arm, and Suguru catches this immediately.

"Fuck," he breathes, and you turn to him, shard extended.

"Don't come any closer."

"Y/n," he calmly whispers. "You don't look so good."

"I wonder why that is," you reply, and Suguru stares back at you, hands raised in surrender.

"What're you doing?"

"What does it look like, Suguru?" you state in a trance. Your bullet wound begins to throb dully, but you ignore it, just like you're ignoring the blood dripping onto the tile flooring.

"Y/n, let's think about this."

"I don't want to think anymore!" The shrill scream is loud enough to make Suguru flinch, and you softly repeat, "I don't want to think anymore," over and over again as tears run down your face.

"I know," Suguru whispers. "I know. Will you let me help you?" You hiccup and drop the piece of glass to the floor, dissolving in a heap of tears and moans. You feel hands pulling you up from the floor and into strong arms, your head being cradled against a broad chest you've felt before. "Go ahead," Suguru encourages you. "Cry it out."

He carries you to another room in the building in silence, laying you on a firm bed and disappearing as you heave painful sobs into the sheets.

"Everything... hurts..." you gasp, and when Suguru reappears with a white bundle of cloth, a bandage roll, and some water, he nods.

"We're going to make it better, don't worry." He takes your injured arm and carefully wipes away the blood, examing the cut slowly. "Doesn't need stitches, thankfully." He turns to open the water bottle and hands it to you, silently telling you to drink while he bandages your wrist.

You drink the water greedily then lean back on the headboard, eyes closing down as Suguru works diligently on your wound. And then you remember the first time he did this for you and the mistake you made in your pridefulness.

"Thank you," you murmur, and Suguru looks up at your face, finally seeing some form of clarity cross your tear-streaked cheeks.

"You're welcome," he replies tenderly. "I have to keep you safe, remember? I promised you that I would." You don't answer him, but he finishes at that exact moment anyways, standing and placing the remnants of the bandage roll on the nightstand. The wound is now covered up completely, with no sign of blood seeping through the cotton and staining the white cloth dark red.

You watch as Suguru crawls into the bed beside you, sighing deeply as he runs his fingers through his locks. "Should I stay awake with you or do you want to try to sleep?"

"Sleep," you answer - albeit not confidently - and the black-eyed man obliges, pulling the thin sheet over you.

"I'll be right here," he affirms, but you reach out your uninjured arm and touch his hand. He instantly turns his palm up to let you grab his fingers, and you pull him closer to you in the king-sized bed.

"Hold me." A second passes with no movement, and Suguru whispers,

"Are you sure?" You nod, and he wordlessly scoots closer, wrapping an arm around you as you nestle into his side with your bandaged hand resting on his chest. His fingers rub a soft pattern up and down your skin, soothing you to the brink of sleep. "I've got you. We'll deal with everything else in the morning," Suguru murmurs as you slip off into a dreamless - and nightmare-less - sleep.

_____________________________________________________________

Morning comes and goes.

Midday arrives, and you awaken from your terrorless sleep still encased in Suguru's grasp. Your eyes flick up to his face, which is peaceful in the midday light streaming in from the windows. The Leader of the Fallen Sun District is asleep and dead to the world around him, but the sound of his breathing lets you know he's on the brink of waking up.

Part of you doesn't want him to. You want to lay there without any responsibilities to him, without any concern, or further harm to either one of you. Maybe if you continued to sleep, all of this would become a distant memory. All of this would go away, and you could go back to living in ignorance.

But Suguru's stirring makes you stiffen, and you feel his arms tighten around you before sliding away.

"You're awake."

"Yeah," you whisper, and he sits up, pulling his knees to his chest.

"We need to talk about last night." You sit up as well, staring at the edge of the bed blankly. "Why didn't you tell someone about your declining mental health?"

"I didn't realize it until it was too late," you admit, looking at the bandage on your wrist. "But I won't be doing that again."

"Doesn't matter," Suguru interjects, looking over at you. You choose to avoid his gaze and stare at your feet, inhaling deeply. "I have to have someone watch you now. I want you to be safe, and now I'm not sure if I can ensure that without some oversight on my part."

"No," you exhale quickly, looking over at him in fear. "I'm better now, I promise."

"I'll have someone move a few of your things over here. That way I can keep an eye on you, just in case." Suguru continues, standing from his position on the bed. "I won't bother you. But I made a promise to you, and I'm going to keep it at all costs." He turns back to you, stating, "Today we'll take a day off and go into the town. I've been wanting to show you around for a while anyway."

You conclude the argument is over when he places a kiss on your temple, then walks into his bathroom, shutting the door and leaving you on the bed alone.

_____________________________________________________________

A car picks both of you up from the building, and when you slide into the backseat, Suguru points to the expanse in the distance.

"Take us to the marketplace." The driver nods, scars running up and down his pale face and his blue eyes looking up at you in the rearview mirror. Does this man even know that he's sitting next to the leader of the Fallen Sun district? Or is Kenjaku a faceless man, hiding behind walls of ones and zeroes?

The scenes that pass by you look identical to those of the city you know and love. There are children playing on the sidewalks, people carrying groceries, life carrying on as if the majority of their names aren't on some rejected list of people who defected from their previous society. Suguru notices your awe at the way things are, and looks over at you, smiling brightly.

"You'd be surprised what you can build from ashes, y/n."

_____________________________________________________________

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[rosy-cheekx]

Alone Again, Naturally

Three times Martin should have called for help.

(I twisted my ankle on Sunday and was bummed bc I missed my partner so…this happened…oops.)

-

1.

Martin’s phone was missing, though he was pretty sure he knew where it was. That thing, that wormy, writhing mass of a woman had it. Destroyed it. His only chance of rescue from this nightmare. Replaying the image of dropping the phone, abandoning it as he ran, would do him no good. His coworkers hadn’t noticed he was missing, or if they had noticed, they hadn’t stopped by. And they shouldn't, of course, it would only put them in danger. But still, it stung a bit, to know that he’d been gone for what, three days now? and no one cared.

He could become a statement from this, Martin realized, his death narrated in Jon’s smooth, clipped voice, and then they would finally learn what happened to that large, oafish researcher who was transferred to the archives with them and disappeared overnight.

Martin sighed through his nose noisily, as if he could expel the dark thoughts with the sound. “Christ, Blackwood. Getting awful morbid there.” Talking to himself had become a staple of his isolation. For one, it drowned out the ever-present knocking on the door and the squelching rustle of the worms. He honestly wasn’t sure whether the sounds were still real or if they had become such a constant that his brain just filled them in anyways.

His voice was the only other sound available to him with his computer not working and his phone gone. His clock radio had played static on every channel, and he had been grateful for the white noise at first. But the longer Martin left the radio on, the sound began to morph from the hissing of dead air to a choir, indecipherable and haunting. There were no words and yet he could understand the message: come home to us. We need you, we miss you, let us show you how much we love you. With us, you’ll never feel lonely again, we promise. Martin had come to, hand on the doorknob to his flat, radio in hand. After that, he had removed all the batteries from anything that could make noise. Since then, he could only trust his own voice; everything else was a trap.

The can opener, unfortunately, had been electric too. He had been so proud of his purchase, a real attempt at adult cooking. (He never seemed to use the manual ones and could never get the grip right.) With the power out, assumedly caused by Prentiss, he had to get creative when it came to “making dinner.” For Martin, this meant sawing open a tin can with a serrated knife, eating it with a fork, and praying no metal shavings were lurking in each mouthful. Tonight’s feast: another can of tinned green beans and the last can of pineapple. He didn’t even like green beans, why had he ever bought these?

Martin gritted himself against the awful sound of metal on metal as he cut into a tin of beans, hissing sharply through his teeth and letting his mind wander. Maybe he could strain the beans? Let them dry? It would probably be better than the wet and soggy mush he was bound to find. Maybe he could put some crackers on them for a crunch? Pretend it’s a bad soup? As he was finishing his indelicate surgery, Martin tipped the can into the sink a little, hoping to strain the bean juice and improve the meal even a little. As he removed the last of the lid, he saw it.

There, in the sink, wiggling its way out of the drain. Another worm. Martin shrieked and jumped back, dropping the can in the sink with a clatter. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to stuff them down the sink, plugging up the drain as best he could. For extra measure, he plugged the faucet as well, suddenly terrified of accidentally swallowing one in a glass of water. Once the adrenaline rush had passed, Martin felt it: a stinging in his palm. They must have jumped at him, must have bitten him. It would be over soon, he knew it. He would be like Prentiss, a mass of tiny bodies. He braced himself to feel something, but nothing changed. Martin frowned, chewing on his lip in confusion, and hazarded a glance down to his hand. There was no worm in his palm, nothing wriggling and biting deep into his muscle, just a slice along the flesh of his thumb, dripping blood from where he must have cut himself on the tin can.

Sheepishly, Martin rolled his eyes at his defeatism. Did it hurt like hell? Yes. But he wasn’t going to become a worm monster. Not today. Grabbing a few more sheets of paper towel, Martin hissed in pain as he pressed them to his wound, making his way shakily to the paltry first-aid kit he kept in his bathroom. He was clumsy in his wound care, only able to use one hand to open the kit and the individually wrapped plasters, while the other pooled blood in his palm uselessly. The antiseptic had stung like hell and the plaster was off-center, but eventually, the job was done. Martin had managed.

“See?” He asked himself softly. “All better. We didn’t want the green beans anyways.” Martin was alone, but he would be fine. He could take care of himself.

——

2.

Martin’s phone had become less and less useful since his time in the Archives. Sasha and Tim had been distant in the end, their group texts dwindling into occasional messages regarding whether not someone had contacted so-and-so regarding their statement. He and Jon had called and texted quite a bit, before the Unknowing, when Jon had been in China, America, and wherever else Gertrude’s breadcrumbs had led him. But since the explosion, their messages lay at a standstill, a “good luck! come home safe :)” still waiting to be sent to “Jonathan Sims--Boss.” He used to call his mother every week, but the outgoing calls had dwindled as she returned less and less of them, until he received an apologetic voicemail from Steady Waters Care Home a few months ago.

Now, the only messages he received were his work emails and an occasional text from Peter with a request or two regarding The Magnus Institute. Not even spam calls reached him anymore. That was all fine by Martin. He was busy running the institute; he didn’t have time for social calls, even if he wanted any, which he didn’t. Martin had taken to leaving his phone in his work office, knowing he wouldn’t need it outside the building anyways. It was becoming something like a desktop mouse to him in its versatility.

It was a Thursday, and it was late--Martin’s watch read 11:09. Thursdays were Martin’s days to deliver paperwork to the archives. He could only ever do it at night when he was sure Jon had either gone home (or was asleep at his desk at the very least). Peter Lukas had been working Martin to the bone with all the paperwork he would hand off with a wave of his hand and an “I’ll be back next week Martin. Please don’t call me,” and this week’s stack of statement requests, financial approvals, and quarterly reviews would fall to Martin instead. Who knew running a front for feeding an all-seeing eldritch deity would require so many business expenses?

Martin. Martin knew. He had reviewed and approved each and every one.

It was the week after Halloween, so the list of those eager to give a statement was longer than usual. Hellweek, Tim used to call it, a grin on his face as Jon would frown and shake his head. The stack of folders Martin carried in his arms eclipsed his eyesight as he carefully made his way down the hall, the Lonely silencing his footsteps and the shuffle of his clothing. The elevator was broken this week, thanks to a visit from one of the Fairchilds. Martin clumsily opened the door to the stairwell, turning to the side slightly to see the steps that descended into the basement he knew so well. Cautiously, he began his way down the stairs, arms clutching the stack of paperwork and binders tight to his chest. The basement was eerily silent; even Martin’s muted steps echoed in his ears.

The door to the Archives creaked slightly, and Martin realized his mistake: he hadn’t propped the door. The thin streak of light that painted his way down the steps thinned and faded in time with the slow squeak of the door. The click of the latch sealed his fate: Martin was in the dark. He didn’t mind the dark, in principle, though his new awareness of the Fears heightened his concern considerably. He stepped down slowly, feeling for the steps with his foot as he went.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin heard a soft flutter as a few papers shifted in his stack. He hoisted the pile and tried to readjust it as he stepped once more. The combination of the changes in the balance of the papers and his weight combined were too much for his brain to process at once and he overcompensated on his step, putting his weight down a little too early. Martin felt the rush of adrenaline as he tried to catch himself, hands clutching uselessly at the paperwork in his hands as if it could save him and he felt himself tumble to the ground. Falling sideways, he hit his shoulder hard on the steps, momentum carrying him down the remaining steps to the floor. The loose papers not held in binders and folders scattered in what Martin was sure was every direction.

Martin was frozen on the floor, pain pulsing through his shoulder. He sat up tentatively, patting himself down as he set down what remained of his stack of folders. He wasn’t bleeding, but his ears were ringing and his arm hurt like hell. Listening carefully for the sound of anyone reacting to his presence, he rotated his shoulders carefully, wincing as throbbing radiated up his arm. He must have dislocated it. Patting his legs down, Martin found his phone in his pocket. He must have forgotten to put it on the charger. He...he could call someone, should call someone. His shoulder was dislocated.

He could call Jon.

He pulled up his text messages, the cursor blinking back at him, blinding in the dark. Jon was surely awake, he knew that man’s sleep schedule was worse than his.

good luck! come home safe :)

safe :)

safe.

“Shit.”

He couldn’t call Jon. It would undo everything he and Peter were trying to build up. It was all for Jon anyways, to keep him safe, to keep them all safe. No. He had to do this alone. It was best that way.

Martin sat himself up carefully. He had taken enough first aid courses (rather, he had watched them for free on the internet) to know how to set it back in place and he knew it would not be pleasant. He drew his right knee up, and clumsily unknotted his tie, using it to secure his arm to his knee. Martin closed his eyes tight and leaned away from his knee, rotating his shoulder as he stretched away, wincing in anticipation until he felt the wet pop of his arm slotting back into place. Sparks shot through his vision, his only grounding point in the dark, and he huffed out a cross between a moan and a curse.

He carefully made a fist with his re-set hand, tensing the muscles in his arm. Determining it to be good enough, Martin felt his way to his feet and grabbed the wall to steady himself. He knew there was a light switch somewhere--ah.

The light clicked on and he winced at the sudden change, letting his eyes adjust behind the safety of his lashes. When he opened his eyes again, he surveyed the mess of his paperwork, gathering it methodically. It took him another half hour, back against Tim’s old desk, to resort his files before setting them in the file basket he had installed on the door to the Archivist’s office, the rest going on the desk of Jon himself. He would see them all in the morning. At least Jon was home, resting.

When Martin emerged from the Archives, he glanced down at his watch, wondering if it was too late to hail a cab. He frowned at his watch; the face was cracked, the hands stuck at 11:11. He must have cracked it in his fall. “Make a wish,” Martin mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. He was pretty sure his wishes were out of reach, hopeless. As long as he would be safe after all this, Martin could sacrifice a few wishes.

——

3.

Martin was on a walk. He had been doing that a lot, since his and Jon’s escape to Scotland. There was something comforting about the long stretches of rolling hills and rocky cliffsides, utterly devoid of menacing fear entities or bosses hellbent on destroying the world. Jon would come with him sometimes, especially in the early days when leaving each other’s presence was challenging to say the least, but Martin sometimes just needed the space. He loved Jon, he knew he did, and Jon did too, but sometimes the presence of another would build up and stifle him, an unbearable heat radiating off of Jon until Martin had to just go for a bit.

It was raining today, a bassy rhythm beating down on Martin’s umbrella as he walked a familiar cliffside path. He could see a rocky beach below him, waves made of roiling ink, more black than blue. The rain was comforting to him, distinguishing this ocean spread before him from the ocean of the Lonely and drowning out any thoughts that passed through Martin’s head. He stepped around a patch especially muddy gravel, glancing down and seeing a ghost of a reflection staring back at him.

Martin had been in a cold place today, withdrawn from the rest of the world. He had felt the fog blossoming over his mind and had known he needed to go for a bit, center himself, remind himself he was real. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would his sense of self again, though he was making progress. Jon understood that sentiment, perhaps better than anyone else in the world, and had kissed him softly at the doorway, squeezing his hand in an unspoken promise. Martin tensed his own hand in a fist, still feeling the heat of Jon’s calloused palm under his, reveling in the idea that someone loved him the way Jon did, that someone loved him the way Jon did and that Martin loved Jon back. Martin felt his body solidifying under the rain, felt the wind buffet against him rather than pass through him.

Martin was thinking about going home when it happened.

Home, or Daisy’s safehouse, was a humble affair: reinforced windows, minimalist, a few guns hidden in the floorboards, lots of fresh fruits and vegetables from the village down the hill. It had been easy to reassign this place in Martin’s mind as home. He hadn’t felt at home since...well, definitely not since Prentiss. Maybe not before either.

The rain was letting up, and the brolly was forgotten in favor of letting the rain drop down into his hair, sopping his curls and plastering them to his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content to be in the rain. Things weren’t good, but they were the best they’d been in a while.

The next thing Martin knew he was on the ground, ankle twisted and both shins scraped, blood and dirt mingling on his legs. He tried to stand up and cried out as his ankle immediately gave way, the hope of putting weight on it dashed on the rocks of the beach far below him.

Martin Blackwood crawled to a tree, leaning his back against it, not minding the dirt that was sure to collect on his back and rump. He winced and massaged his ankle, already feeling it begin to swell under his fingertips. With his free hand, a silver scar shining between his forefinger and thumb, he reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he clumsily dialed the only number in his list of favorites.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice was warm through the tinny speakers. “I hope you’re well.” It was carefully not a question, though Martin caught the notes of careful concern.

“Tch-” Martin sucked air through his teeth. “I fell, Jon. I twisted my ankle, I think? Can’t-ah-can’t walk.”

“Oh. Martin, dear,” Jon’s voice was softer, and Martin could practically see his love’s fingers, itching to do, to fix. “Do you need me to—I can come get you, if you like. I haven’t…I haven't looked. But I can, if you want me to.”

Martin smiled despite himself, hearing Jon’s cautious phrasing. “Please, yes. I’m pretty sure I’m near a picnic park, if you want to drive there and get me? Not sure this is a drivable trail.”

“Did you pass anyone?”

“…no?”

A pause. Martin heard static crackling through the phone. “No one will be there. I Know where you are, Martin. I’ll be there soon.”

Ten minutes and enough ice packs to ease the pain of a full rugby team later, Martin was laying in the back of Jon’s small car, heat blasting on him to dry his now-soaked clothing. There were perks to having an all-knowing partner, it turned out.

Later that evening, Martin was tucked into the couch, his head pleasantly nestled in cushions and his feet in Jon’s lap, who was carefully massaging his feet and ankles, probing for any long-term injuries with his Eyes. A mug of tea grasped between his hands, Martin sighed softly and felt warmth flood his face. He hadn’t been alone this time. He wouldn’t be alone ever again.

[rafael-silva]

in your safety: a tarlos fic

A thought crosses his mind and he finds himself grabbing on to it. He carefully moves up in his bed, turning on the side lamp sitting on his nightstand. He grabs his phone and opens a recent text thread. TK: [11:17 PM] Are you awake?

—

TK can’t really sleep after he’s discharged from the hospital. One night, he goes searching for comfort and a shoulder to lean on. He finds both.

A 1.09 missing scene.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + insomnia

emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, angst, comfort, fluff, worried carlos reyes, cuddles, soft kisses, tk strand needs a hug, missing scene

2.8k | on ao3

*****

TK is no stranger to insomnia.

He’s been dealing with it on and off since his parents’ divorce, trying to come to terms with it. It was hard at first, he’d find himself lying wide awake in bed, thoughts racing as he tossed and turned, sleep never finding him. Other days he’d have a hard time waking up, or he’d wake up exhausted, almost like he didn’t sleep at all.

It got better with time, though. Some remedies helped along the way, as well as talking to his dad about it and working through some of the thoughts that had kept him wide awake, lurking in the depth of his mind.

TK would say he’s been doing better overall, aside from a few nights here and there where sleep had proven to be difficult or he’d be restless, he’d come a long way since he was a little kid.

Until he got shot. And for the nights following his release from the hospital, he found himself transported back to when he was seven years old, staring up at the ceiling. He can’t even burn off the restless and anxious energy with tossing and turning due to the stitches in his still-sore chest.

It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots between the shooting and the insomnia TK is experiencing. He can’t remember the events, but there is still something nagging at him in his gut, keeping him awake. Keeping his mind switched on.

TK would sometimes find Owen still awake after a round of fitful sleep and they’d talk about anything, falling into a light conversation that would help ease TK’s mind and quieten his thoughts.

But TK had convinced Owen to go back to work once he was settled at home, and Owen was currently halfway into a twenty-four hour shift. TK isn’t the biggest fan of Owen’s well-meant hovering, it sometimes making him climb the walls, but if the firefighter was also being completely honest, the house is too lonely and silent for his liking in this moment. He could use a little bit of comfort or someone to talk to.

A thought crosses his mind and he finds himself grabbing on to it. He carefully moves up in his bed, turning on the side lamp sitting on his nightstand. He grabs his phone and opens a recent text thread.

TK: [11:17 PM] Are you awake?

TK places his phone next to him, worrying his bottom lip as he waits.

His phone pings a minute later.

Carlos: [11:18 PM] Yeah.

Carlos: [11:18 PM] Everything okay?

TK’s anxiety starts getting the best of him, and his mind is suddenly searching for ways out.

He aware he’s taking too long to answer when another message comes through.

Carlos: [11:22 PM] TK?

Carlos’s growing concern is palpable through his text.

TK: [11:23 PM] Sorry. Yeah, everything’s fine.

Then TK realizes he owes Carlos an explanation.

TK: [11:23 PM] I can’t sleep.

Carlos’s reply comes immediately.

Carlos: [11:23 PM] Are you home alone?

TK: [11:24 PM] Yeah. Dad’s on shift.

TK draws in a deep breath and continues to chew on his bottom lip.

TK: [11:25 PM] Can I come over?

TK’s face starts to heat up as the anxiety continues to brew in his gut, watching the three grey dots appear and disappear a few times. He’s starting to dread he’s asked for too much.

He doesn’t know where he stands with Carlos, especially when it comes to a request like this one. He’s gone to Carlos’s place multiple times before, but when the officer had asked him to come over. TK’s never asked himself and he’s worried he crossed a line.

They haven’t talked about what they are, and TK hadn’t even given Owen a straight answer when his father asked. Owen put one and one together when Carlos stood in the doorway of TK’s hospital door with tear-streaked cheeks, figuring out that there’s…something between him and his son, but even after some playful teasing from Owen’s side once TK woke up, the younger man still hadn’t given him much. He didn’t deny it, though.

The truth is, TK is falling for Carlos. And it scares him. Confusion has been his one constant feeling since he woke up in the hospital, feeling like his entire life was turned upside down. Not only was he still healing from what happened in New York, but he had absolutely no intention of starting or getting into anything until he got back on his feet when he moved to Austin.

Then Carlos Reyes strode into his life and effortlessly began tearing down the walls TK had built around himself. After attempts to run and hide and the failure of said attempts, TK let him. Because even a part of him couldn’t deny that it felt right with Carlos, it felt natural. It was a tug of war within TK, the desire to build his walls back up with cement and the desire to let Carlos in. And TK certainly didn’t expect to fall for the other man as quickly as he did.

That doesn’t change the fact that he still doesn’t know what he and Carlos are and where they stand. He felt a shift in their relationship in the couple of weeks prior to getting shot, with a lingering impression that this thing between them might be going somewhere.

Then a bullet to the chest gave TK a run for his money and halted all. It circles back to confusion for TK, about who he is, what he wants to do with his life. And all that confusion inevitably ties in with Carlos, and the nature of their relationship.

The fog of confusion had been growing more and more in the days after his hospital release, as TK began to doubt everything.

TK may not remember getting shot, but he certainly feels his life crumbling in the aftermath.

So yeah, he wasn’t exactly sure how Carlos was going to respond to his request. And he couldn’t really make an educational guess either. He knows Carlos has a kind heart and a warm soul, but everyone has lines and limits, and TK isn’t sure where inviting himself over to Carlos’s place falls on the officer’s. He prays he hadn’t crossed either.

But Carlos is safety, and TK will hold onto that for as long as he can.

TK doesn’t have to wonder about Carlos’s response for much longer because another ping brings him back from his thoughts.

Carlos: [11:26 PM] Of course. I’ll leave the front porch light on.

TK feels a weight lifted off his chest. A small smile tugs on the corner of his lips as he types back a reply.

TK: [11:26 PM] Thanks. I’ll be there in 20.

After throwing on a hoodie and sneakers, TK orders an Uber and waits outside. The car arrives in a matter of minutes, and he finds himself heading to Carlos’s in under five minutes from sending the last text. He sends a message to his father this time, telling him that he’ll be at Carlos’s place.

Carlos is wearing a black t-shirt and grey sweats when he opens the door for TK. He smiles, stepping to the side to let the firefighter in and locking the door behind him.

TK lingers close, hands stuffed into the pocket on the front of his hoodie as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, nervous as he watches the officer.

“Would you like anything? Food or water?” Carlos asks TK once he’s sure everything is locked and the lights are turned off.

“No, thanks, I’m good,” TK replies. “Thanks for letting me come over. Sorry if it was a weird request, I just—”

“TK, it’s okay. You’re welcome here anytime, and I’m glad you reached out,” Carlos’s smile widens a little, reaching his captivating brown eyes.

TK reciprocates, albeit with a smaller smile than Carlos’s and then his eyes go a little wide when Carlos extends his hand towards him.

“I was about to get into bed,” Carlos explains, his face soft.

TK nods and takes Carlos’s hand, letting the slightly larger man lead them up the stairs. The warmth radiating from Carlos’s tough helps calm TK’s racing heart, the touch grounding him and offering comfort. The comfort he was searching for.

TK unconsciously tightens his grip on Carlos’s hand, trying to hold onto that support for as long as he could. Carlos gives him a quick look over his shoulder, and something in his features tells TK he’ll have it for as long as he wants.

They enter Carlos’s bedroom, separating their connection as the officer walks over to his preferred side of the bed. TK makes his way to the other, tipping off his shoes and removing his hoodie. Carlos pulls the duvet back, plugs his phone into the charger and climbs into bed. TK watches him for a few moments before following, crossing his legs on the mattress, sitting criss-crossed now and drops his hands into his lap.

“You okay?”

TK shrugs.

“Have you been sleeping at all since you got home from the hospital?” Carlos asks, having noticed the black bags hanging under TK’s eyes and the exhaustion written on his face.

“Few hours every night,” TK whispers.

“TK…” Carlos sighs.

“I know,” TK looks at Carlos. “But I just can’t sleep.”

Carlos’s response is interrupted by TK’s phone pinging in his pocket.

He fishes it out of his sweats and reads the new text.

“It’s from my dad,” TK says. “I told him I was coming here so he doesn’t worry.”

“And?” Carlos wonders, suddenly nervous himself about Owen’s reaction.

“He said okay and to call or text him if I need anything,” TK answers.

“He’s not surprised,” Carlos states rather than questions.

“No,” TK chuckles weakly. “He knows, about…” he makes a back and forth gesture between him and Carlos with a hand. “He kind of put one and one together. Asked me about it when I woke up. Not directly, though.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at TK, intrigued about that conversation between father and son.

TK playfully rolls his eyes. “So, he’s been seeing this Psychology professor, head of the department actually and he didn’t mention anything before. And she was at the hospital with him when I woke up. Later I ask how long he’s been seeing her, and he said he’ll tell me when I tell him how long I’ve been seeing the cop. His words.”

Carlos winces slightly, but still a slight blush colors his cheeks. “Yeah, that’s on me. I stopped by after you were out of the surgery.” With tear-stained cheeks goes unsaid.

TK nods. “Yeah, dad mentioned. That’s how he connected the dots.”

“I’m sorry if that made it uncomfortable or anything, or if you weren’t ready for your dad to know about…I just wanted to see you. I was getting updates from Paul but it wasn’t the same,” Carlos confesses.

“No, no,” TK shakes his head. “Not at all. I get it, don’t worry about that. I…wanted you there.”

“I was just…really glad to hear your voice when you called,” Carlos expresses, his voice gentle.

TK gives him a small smile. He had called Carlos after he woke up, and the cop’s heart had soared and the fear lifted upon hearing his name tumble out of TK’s mouth once again. Perhaps his favorite time TK had said his name since they’ve known each other. Carlos stopped by the house once TK was settled in, and now is the second time they’re seeing each other since TK was sent home.

They don’t bring up their relationship status or what they are, both sensing that the other is tired and drained and it’s not really the time or place for said conversation. TK knows they’ll eventually have to talk about it, but for now, he’s satisfied just being close to Carlos. They can deal with the rest later.

“You can sleep, I don’t want to keep you up,” TK speaks. “I’ll probably be up for a while.”

Carlos shakes his head. “I’ll stay up with you. I don’t need to be up early, I have tomorrow off.”

TK gives him a grateful smile in response, happy for the company as they slip into comfortable silence.

It’s Carlos who breaks the quiet. He lifts his arm for TK while moving closer to the firefighter.

“Come here,” Carlos murmurs, an invitation which TK accepts.

TK gets closer to Carlos, and careful about his stitches, glues his side to Carlos’s. He rests his head against Carlos’s shoulder and Carlos wraps an arm around TK’s. Carlos runs his hand up and down TK’s arm, to help sooth and relax the injured man.

“So, there’s something I’ve been thinking about,” TK begins. “Since I got home. My insomnia is definitely related to what happened, falling into the pattern of it getting worse with stressful situations. I can’t remember a thing from getting shot, no nightmares or anything but I keep thinking about the kid.”

Carlos tightens his hold on TK, more instinctively than anything else. And TK’s words take him back to that night.

Carlos could immediately tell it was Judd speaking, his words echoing through the radio, the Texan firefighter’s usually steady tone laced with panic as he reported, dispatch, we have shots fired, firefighter down, I repeat firefighter down…and Carlos will never forget how his heart dropped into his stomach, his gut twisting and turning and there was no way he’d know who was down from the team, not yet, but it’s almost like he sensed it. Like he felt it. He had already driven away from the house and it took every ounce of his control to not take the first u-turn and race towards the hospital.

And when his phone had continuously vibrated in his pocket, Carlos’s heart sped up in his chest, fearing that his gut was right. The caller ID was all the confirmation he needed.

“Is he okay? He’s not…” Carlos had wasted no time after answering Paul’s call, trailing off, not even daring to utter the last word in his thought process. Because if TK was okay, he’d be the one calling him or would have sent him a text.

TK’s voice seeps into his ears and brings him back to the present, Carlos’s grasp on the younger man never faltering or loosening. He knows they both need it.

“That poor kid,” TK continues. “I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. I can’t even remember and I’m struggling with it, how heavy this must be for a little boy…”

Carlos leans in, closing the distance between them by brushing a kiss to TK’s temple. He then drops his head a little, touching his forehead to where he planted the kiss. TK leans into Carlos a little more, as much as he can without pulling at his stitches.

“I want to go see him, the kid,” TK reveals. “I think it’s going to help him, to see that I’m okay and to know that I don’t blame him.”

Carlos pulls back to watch TK, and he notices how his green eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“That’s very thoughtful and kind, TK,” Carlos softly speaks. “I think you should, too. And I also think it’s going to help you, as well.”

TK turns to face Carlos.

“You’re healing from something you don’t remember happening,” Carlos says. “That in itself is taking a toll on you, it’s tough to deal with. But I think seeing that boy is going to help you come to terms with what happened. I think it’s going to make that weight sitting on your shoulders lighter.”

TK draws in a deep breath at Carlos’s declaration, letting his words sink in and just then realizing how much he needed to hear them.

Without a word, TK cuddles closer to Carlos, resting his head above the officer’s heart and draping an arm over his waist. He closes his eyes, taking even breaths guided by Carlos’s steady heartbeat.

“Do you think it will come back to me? That I’ll remember it?” TK asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” Carlos replies. “Only time will tell.”

“I don’t want to feel this pain again if I do remember it one day,” TK swallows against his throat.

“I can’t promise that you won’t feel the pain,” Carlos admits with sadness coating his voice. “But I can promise that I’ll be right here for you. You’re not alone, TK.”

TK sniffs, a tear rolling down his cheek.

He wants to stay here and not move, engulfed in Carlos’s arms, his touch, his scent. In Carlos’s safety. In his heart.

He hears Carlos’s voice from above.

“Get some rest, TK.”

And contradictory to his earlier statement, TK is already drifting off, his mind calm and heartbeat even. He finally feels at peace.

The kiss Carlos presses to the top of his head is the last thing TK feels before falling asleep.

And for the first time since he was discharged from the hospital, TK sleeps through the night.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

a slow voice on a wave of phase

Logan has a voice like a galaxy, shot through with silver and streaked with stars, and today, Roman has realized that he is in love.

Roman has seen colors in sounds for as long as he can remember, and Logan's voice paints the night sky across his vision. It's no wonder that he falls in love with him, though it is surprising that he took this long to realize it.

(Wherein Roman pines, Remus' input is surprisingly helpful, and Logan has a lot more feelings than anyone is giving him credit for.)

Content Warnings: Remus-typical inappropriateness, mild Roman-typical insecurity

Word Count: 5,629

Pairings: Logince, platonic Creativitwins, brief mention of Dukeceit

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

The idea comes to him suddenly, and by ‘suddenly,’ he means ‘with the force of a giant shark crashing through the wall of his bedroom at ninety miles per hour,’ because that is how Remus makes his entrance: half-naked, dripping wet, and straddling the back of a two-and-a-half ton great white.

“Tada!” Remus crows, sliding onto the floor. “You bet I couldn’t do it!” The shark, presumably irritated either by the lack of water dooming it to slow asphyxiation or by the loud, annoying man yelling in its face, flops around on the floor helplessly. Roman watches it through half-lidded eyes, and briefly considers getting up to deal with it before it starts knocking things over.

“But the proof’s in the pudding!” his brother continues, slapping the shark with a wink. Who the wink is directed at, Roman has no idea. Hopefully not the shark, though he wouldn’t put it past him. “Or in the big-ass shark! It only ate me three times before I got to ride it!” At this, he makes a disgusting motion with his hips, calling attention to the fact that his swimming trunks really do not cover enough, and Roman wonders just what, exactly, he did to deserve this treatment.

“What are you doing in my room?” he demands. Or at least, he means to demand; it comes out sounding more like an exhausted sigh, and he supposes that he shouldn’t have expected anything different. Lying in bed in pajamas is not a position from which one can demand much of anything, even if that one happens to be a prince with an incredible amount of creative power at his fingertips.

Not that he’s feeling much creative power at the moment.

Remus finally seems to register his tone and position. He stalks forward, his nose wrinkling, and Roman is greeted with a close-up view of his brother’s bare chest, which is just about par the course. It could be worse, he supposes. At least he’s shirtless and not pantsless. Mostly.

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Remus asks. “Ooh, was it a spider, like, the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout, except the waterspout’s your--”

“Oh my god,” he says, and finally works up the willpower to sit up and shove his brother away. “Can you stop?”

“Can’t stop won’t stop!” Remus trills gleefully, but Roman ignores him in favor of standing to inspect the shark in the middle of his bedroom floor. It is, he has to admit, a bit impressive, and all those teeth are equal parts cool and terrifying. He would likely be more impressed if it wasn’t expiring on his carpet, or if there wasn’t a shark-sized hole in his wall leading to parts unknown. He frowns, focusing and waving a hand, and both the shark and the damage disappear. Unfortunately, the water all over the floor does not.

“Wow,” Remus says. “You are no fun.”

“If you think I’m leaving an open path to your side of the Imagination in my room, you’re…” Remus grins at him, propping his head up in his hands and waggling his eyebrows expectantly. “... nevermind.”

“I never do mind,” Remus agrees, and takes the initiative to flop down onto his bed, thus getting water all over his bedsheets, because he’s an inconsiderate jerk. “So, what’s got you all down in the dumps? Usually, I crash a shark through your wall and you get all pissy about it, but you’re being boring. What gives?”

Roman glares, and seriously considers trying to remove him too. There was a time when he would have been able to do so easily, a time when he knew for a fact that he belonged in the light and Remus belonged in the dark, with all of the other things that ooze and crawl. But things aren’t so black and white these days, and now that Thomas has begun to tentatively ask for Remus’ input every now and again, it’s harder than ever to make him leave when he gets it in his head that he wants to be somewhere. He is, in that way, a bit like a pimple, or a particularly persistent mold. Neither of which he can actually call him to his face, because he’ll just take it as a compliment, but the fact remains that once he grows on, it is incredibly difficult to scrape him off.

“What gives is that I want you out of my room,” he tries, crossing his arms, but Remus makes a tsking sound.

“Oh, sure,” he says. “That’s why you were lying there all sad and shit? You looked like someone that decided that their idea of fun is to lie down in the middle of the street and see what happens.” He pauses. “Actually, do you think Thomas would--”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

He pouts. “Boo,” he says. “You never let me do anything. But I mean, really Ro Ro, it can’t be a creative block. I’ve seen you in one of those, and you get all whiny and sick and then you start acting like you’re a poet in the 18oos and you’ve got consumption.” He lays a hand across his brow. “Oh me oh my, if only I could write one last poem before I cough my whole lungs out of my body. Ooh, could you imagine what that would look like? Your lungs, just sliding out of your mouth like big grey sacks?”

“First of all, no, gross,” Roman says. “Also, I didn’t know poets dying of consumption sounded like congested Southern belles.”

Remus waves a hand. “Eh, not the point,” he says. “And maybe the poets didn’t, but you sure do.”

“Hey--”

“But my point,” he continues, “is that it can’t be that, ‘cause Thomas has got a backlog of weeks’ worth of ideas to peruse if he actually wants to do something, which means that’s not your issue.” He rolls over on his side, so as better to make eye contact. “So what is your deal?”

Roman opens his mouth and promptly closes it again. Honestly, if this were about anything else, he might consider telling him. As annoying as he is, he feels closer to Remus now than he has in years, perhaps to the point where he could feel comfortable sharing something personal. Sure, Remus will probably laugh or make fun, or twist it into something weird or a horrible innuendo, but at least it would be out there, in the open, and someone else would know of it. At least there would be proof of its existence outside of his own mind. 

But this? Can he share this?

Because the deal isn’t a messed up audition or a troublesome idea. It isn’t even one of his usual personal issues, like the self-doubt that creeps into his mind in the small hours of the morning, the whispered thought that none of his ideas are worthy of use, that he himself is failing in his purpose, a mere facsimile of the prince that he is supposed to be.

No. For once, it’s not that, and he refuses to fall down that rabbit hole.

The deal is that Logan has a voice like a galaxy, shot through with silver and streaked with stars, and today, Roman has realized that he is in love.

-----

It took a while for either of them to notice that none of the others experience the world the way they do. They never thought to question it; Roman saw colors in sound, and Remus heard music in images, and that was just the way it was. It wasn’t until they were a bit older that they figured out that the weird looks they garnered when they brought it up, when Roman mentioned a teacher with a corn-yellow drawl or when Remus talked about a picture in 3/4 time, weren’t just disapproval directed at the way the Creativities saw the world, but instead a genuine lack of understanding.

They stopped talking about it, eventually. Or rather, Roman stopped talking about it, and Remus accepted that nobody would pay attention to his eccentricities as long as he presented them in a certain way.

So really, it’s not that Roman is hiding it. It’s just never come up.

Remus’ voice is like an oil spill, black and thick and oozing, but with flashes of lime green running through it, the color of slime and radioactive waste. Patton’s is pink, yellow, and blue all swirled together, like a field of flowers, or every flavor of cotton candy all at once. Virgil’s voice is more difficult to pin down; once, he thought it was a black, swirling smoke, but as the years have passed, Roman has realized that the smoke is not black, but dark purple, only showing its true color when light is shined through it. Janus’ is similarly difficult to interpret, but lately, he has likened it to a still, quiet forest, all dark green and brown, secrets lurking just under the surface.

But Logan’s has always been his favorite. Because Logan’s voice sounds like space itself, a backdrop of black peppered with millions of shining, twinkling lights, mixed with bright galaxies and spinning nebulae, vast and beautiful and incomprehensible. At his calmest, it is a void, the light of the stars distant and cold, but when he gets excited, when he begins to ramble about a topic, the stars increase in number and illuminate his whole face, swirling in his eyes and hair, and Roman could listen to him for days.

He’s always known that he has a bit of a crush. But he’s always thought that a crush was all it was, and if it was a bit longer-lasting than crushes are meant to be, well, it’s not as if there are a lot of other options. The mindscape proper only has seven inhabitants, and it would feel wrong to try to date someone from the Imagination, considering that he controls the place. So, he’s been content to linger on his feelings for Logan, never pushing for anything more than he would be willing to give, because another thing that he’s always known is that never in a million years would his feelings be returned.

Logan, as he has said himself so many times, does not do feelings. And even though Roman knows very well that Logan is not nearly as unfeeling as he would like to pretend to be, that does not mean that he would be comfortable with, or even open to the idea of a relationship. And even if he were, he would not choose to be with him, would not choose the embodiment of dreams and fantasies, everything that logic attempts to deny. So it’s a hopeless crush, a one-sided romance for the ages, the type of story that Roman would be captivated with if he weren’t at the center of it, if thinking about it didn’t make his chest tight and his eyes sting.

But this morning--

Oh, gods of Olympus, this morning--

He has no idea what prompted the epiphany. By all rights, this morning was like any other morning: Patton at the pancake griddle, Virgil slumped and half-awake at the table, Logan sipping at his coffee. Roman made his usual stunning and gorgeous entrance, ready to tackle the day’s challenges like a true knight would, and traded his usual morning barbs with Virgil. But before he could even sit down, Logan looked up at him, smiled slightly, and said, “Good morning, Roman,” a galaxy glittering around him, and Roman took a brief moment to think about how much he loves him.

And then stopped up short. Because, what? Love? No?

Except, yes.

These feelings have been bursting in his chest for so long, fireworks setting off whenever Logan speaks, whenever Logan so much as looks his way. And he thought they were a crush, no more than that, if not ignorable then at least possible to work around. But that’s not right, has never been right, and in this instant, years’ worth of suppositions came crashing down around his ears.

So, his mind racing, the silence stretching too long, he did the only thing he could think to do.

“I, uh, forgot a thing,” he stammered, and beat a hasty retreat back to his room, ignoring the way Patton called after him. Upon closing the door behind him, he changed back into his pajamas and collapsed back on his bed, his mind whirling, intent on not facing anybody else until he has to.

Because he loves Logan. Is in love with Logan. Has been in love with Logan for years and years now, has been pining away without even understanding that that was what he was doing.

Frankly, he’s not sure he can think of a worse position to be in.

-----

Which brings him here: his floor wet, his arms crossed, and Remus staring expectantly at him, waiting for an explanation. And Remus isn’t one to back down easily, which leaves Roman in a predicament.

He could try lying. But he’s not sure he could lie well enough about this, and frankly, he doesn’t want to risk Janus getting himself involved. But the only other option is the truth, and he’s not sure he wants Remus to know the truth, not sure he trusts Remus not to hold it over his head, to mock him or to stick his fingers in an open wound that he himself has only just discovered.

Because Remus would definitely do that. Both literally and figuratively.

“Bro,” Remus says, looking amused, “whatever it is, I’m almost positive it’s not that deep. You know what is deep?”

“What?” Roman replies, hoping beyond hope for a change of topic.

“My butt!” Remus says, and then cackles.

Roman buries his face in his hands, and Remus’ laughter stretches on and on and on, filling the room with slick oil, painting the walls with slime and noxious fumes, and green squiggles worm their way onto the backs of his eyelids, and he absolutely cannot do this right now.

“I’m in love with Logan,” he mumbles into his hands, and the laughter cuts off abruptly.

“You’re what?” Remus asks, and Roman looks up from his hands. Remus has sat up in his bed, and is staring at him with a peculiarly intent expression.

“I’m in love with Logan,” he repeats, firmer this time. He holds Remus’ gaze, daring him to say something, so of course, Remus does, erupting into laughter once again.

“You can’t be serious,” he says in between giggles. “Really? Logan? He’s such a stick in the mud. A stick in the mud with a stick up his butt. It’s like a flag, except, instead of a flag it’s Logan, because the stick is both in the mud and up his butt.” He pauses, and Roman’s face must be doing something, because Remus sobers just a bit, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. You’re actually serious.”

He groans, plopping down in the middle of the floor, ignoring the way the dampness of the carpet seeps into his pants. “I don’t know what to do,” he moans, more to air his grievance than to accomplish anything else. It’s not as if he’s expecting Remus to have any useful suggestions for him.

But Remus shifts on the bed so he can face him completely. “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain this one to me, because I don’t get it,” he says. “Whenever I look at Logan, I get robot noises and video game music on full blast.” He breaks off, humming a few bars, and Roman has to admit that it’s not an unpleasant tune, though not one he would think to associate with Logan. “Plus,” Remus continues, “he’s so boring. Sure, he’s fun to wind up, but he’s all about the rules and being logical and no, Thomas can’t do that, he’ll get acid burns, so why don’t we watch a documentary instead?” He says the last in an almost perfect imitation of Logan’s voice, his face darkening. Oddly, when Remus does it, Roman doesn’t connect the sound with space at all, hearing only the same oily splatters that his brother’s voice usually consists of. “I don’t want to watch documentaries. I want to do shit.”

Roman shakes his head. “You don’t hear what his voice actually sounds like,” he insists. “It’s… gods above, he talks, and it’s like he brings all the stars down to earth. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard in my life.” He scrubs a hand across his face. “And sometimes he smiles and says something smart, and I’m just, wow, I would die for you. Do you know how pretty his smile is? And he’s so frickin’ smart.”

Remus’ expression has frozen halfway between awe and disgust. “You’ve got it bad,” he says, and Roman groans.

“You think I don’t know that?” he says. “I just don’t know what to do about it!” He sighs. “Theoretically, I know all about romance and wooing. I’m the romance guy! But when I think about wooing Logan, my stomach gets all twisted up in knots. Like a sad pretzel. I mean, grand gestures and gifts are the way to go, right? But what even could I give him that he would like? He hates things that are ‘frivolous and unrealistic,’ but that’s my whole thing!”

Remus cocks his head. “Bones,” he says sagely.

He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Give him some bones,” Remus says, nodding, like this makes perfect sense. “Like, two, maybe three bones. Boys like bones.”

“... Where am I getting these bones?”

Remus’ face brightens. “I’ve got a few extra!” he proclaims. “Wanna see?”

“I-- no,” he says. “Stop. I’m not giving him bones. Why do you--” No, best not to question. “Nevermind. Is that how you got Janus to date you?”

Remus grins. “Nah,” he says. “I mean, maybe that helped. I think what really did it was that I wrote him our song.”

“You wrote him a song?”

“No, stupid, our song,” he says. “Like, how I look at him and I hear a song. And then I’ve got a song, too. So I figured out a way to mash them together. And then I gave it to him.” He sighs, almost dreamily, if Remus has a dreamy setting. Roman would like to never hear that again, thank you, because frankly, he doesn’t much want to hear about whatever weird relationship his brother has with Deceit, and he sort of regrets bringing it up in the first place. “He really, really liked it. Said it was the best thing he’d ever heard.” Remus pauses, an odd light entering his eyes. “He said something about it being from the heart. I tried giving him my actual heart, but then he said that wasn’t what he meant.”

“From the heart,” he mutters, considering. So, something heartfelt, personal. Remus literally gave Deceit something that showed how he perceived him, everything that he felt. But how can he do the same and make sure that it’s something Logan likes? Logan likes science, likes math and numbers, likes facts, and Roman doesn’t know anything about any of those things. All he knows is how Logan makes him feel and the way his voice shines like starlight in his mind’s eye, and he’s not sure how to translate that into something Logan would appreciate, or even understand.

And then it comes: the idea.

“Holy shit,” he says, spine straightening, the burst of inspiration setting his mind to whirring. For an instant, he sees it dancing before him, an image of perfection, within his reach if only he can replicate exactly what he envisions. “Remus, you’re a genius!”

Remus gawks. “I am?” he asks, and his face brightens. “I already knew that, but fuck yeah!”

Roman laughs, bright and free, clambering to his feet. “Okay, okay, I know what I’m doing,” he says. “So I need you to get out, but god, thank you so much.”

Remus hops off the bed without protest. “Anytime, bro bro,” he says, sauntering toward the door. “Remember to put in a good word with Tommy-boy for me. And if you end up fucking, put a sock on the door.”

“You’re gross,” Roman says, pushing him out. The words carry no bite, and the last thing he sees before closing the door in his face is Remus grinning at him, an expression of pure delight.

-----

In the end, it takes him a week. A week holed up in his room, only occasionally emerging to grab food, and he knows he’s making everyone else worry, but he can’t stop himself, doesn’t dare stop until what he sees in his mind has been set to paper, exactly how he wants it. It has been so long since an idea has gripped him like this, since he has been so inspired to create, since he has been so sure in his ability to make something beautiful, and he feels as though he could subsist on his exhilaration alone.

When it is done, he steps back, admires his handiwork, and proceeds to sleep for twenty-two hours straight.

On the eighth day, he steps out into the hallway, canvas tucked securely under his arm, and makes his way down the hall to Logan’s room.

He takes a deep breath before knocking, hoping to steady his nerves. He hasn’t had much time, these past few days, to worry about whether or not Logan would like it, but now, he’s wondering if this was a mistake, if this is something that would be better kept to himself. He can wave off the others’ concern by pretending he was working on hypothetical ideas, or that a quest in the Imagination ran over-long. He doesn’t actually have to give this to Logan at all, doesn’t have to bare himself like this, doesn’t have to risk his scorn and judgement.

But what else is love, in the end, if not a risk worth taking?

He knocks, and moments later, hears footsteps from inside. He barely has time to check that there is a smile on his face before Logan opens the door, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Roman,” he greets, and though nothing outwardly changes, Roman’s brain insists that a shooting star streaks across his vision. “We haven’t seen much of you these past few days.”

“Ah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “right, sorry. I just got caught up in the creative process, you know how it is.”

“I do not,” Logan says. “Nevertheless, I am glad to see you well.” He pauses. “I was… somewhat concerned after your hasty exit the last time I saw you. I wanted to ensure that I did not do something to offend you.”

Oh, shit. He’s been so busy that he hadn’t bothered to think about how that moment might have been interpreted. And there is an odd note in Logan’s tone that implies that this is actually something that’s been troubling him, and Roman feels like kicking himself for letting him worry about it.

“No, no, not at all!” he says, gesturing with his free hand. “I just got struck with inspiration in that very moment, so of course, I needed to retreat before the idea was lost.” He winces internally as the words leave his mouth. It is a lie, but only just; it certainly wasn’t inspiration that he was struck with. That came later.

“I see,” Logan says, and Roman hopes that he isn’t imagining the way his shoulders relax, if only slightly. “That is good to hear. In that case, was there something you needed from me?”

“I--” He breaks off, swallowing hard. This is the moment of truth, the last second in which he could turn back. He is, essentially, offering up all of his emotions on a silver platter, even if Logan likely won’t recognize that fact. Still, rejection at this point would hurt worse than any failed audition, worse than any mistake he has ever made, and he has made so many.

But he has spent so long on this. He wants it to be seen by its object.

“This is for you,” he blurts out, and shoves the canvas out in front of him like a shield. Logan takes it, startled, and Roman watches as his eyes flicker across the painting, widening ever so slightly. 

After a week’s worth of work, he knows exactly what Logan is seeing. A painting of blacks and dark blues and purples, pinpricks of whites and yellows and reds, a display of the cosmos swirling on a backdrop of the void. Everything that Roman sees when Logan speaks is here: the inky darkness of his calm, the supernova of his anger, the stars that glitter and twirl in his excitement. It is like no view of space that mankind has ever seen, because this universe is Logan, completely and utterly, is comprised of the galaxies that drip from his tongue when he speaks.

This is how Roman sees him. This is how Roman loves him.

The silence stretches on for a long time, so long that Roman is tempted to declare the whole thing a bust, to laugh and play it off like it’s no big deal, like his heart won’t be completely and utterly crushed if Logan hates it.

“You painted this?” Logan finally asks. His voice sounds choked, a star collapsing in on itself. Roman shuffles his feet.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “I just thought, um, you like space? So I, uh. Do you like it?”

He tries not to sound needy, tries not to sound like his happiness is contingent on the answer he receives. He’s not sure how much he succeeds.

“It’s… adequate,” Logan replies, and Roman could dance, could sing his relief to any and all who would listen, because he knows Logan well enough to know what that means. And if that’s the best he’ll get, he’ll take it and go and be glad, because Logan likes it, and that is more than enough for him. He feels like he’s on top of the world, like he’s floating in space himself, orbiting the moon and staring into the sun and being blinded and loving every minute of it.

“Actually,” Logan says, and for a second, Roman’s heart drops into his shoes, before he continues with, “it’s… it’s far more than adequate. I don’t know much about art, but I know a piece of expert craftsmanship when I see one.” He looks up at Roman, his eyes shining. “You made this for me?”

There is an emotion in his voice that Roman cannot name, but it is speckled with so many stars, more than he thinks he’s ever seen at once. More stars than void, at least, shining and shimmering with light.

And Roman wasn’t planning to do this. Was planning to take this slowly, was planning to give Logan his offering and leave, using his reaction as a gauge for the next step, if he dared to take a next step at all, if he came away with the conclusion that Logan would not hate him for attempting a romance. But the way Logan is staring at him, wide-eyed and open, as if he has been gifted something incredibly precious, makes him want Logan to understand just how much this means, just how much it says. Just how much of his heart and soul he is putting on the line.

Dear sweet Beyonce, he’s actually going to do it, isn’t he?

“I did,” he says. “Um, okay, I’ve never actually explained this to anyone, so bear with me.” Logan tilts his head, confused, but is otherwise silent. “Uh, have you ever heard of the thing where people’s senses get crossed? Like, say, you associate a color with a particular number or letter?”

Logan’s eyebrows furrow. “Are you referring to synesthesia?” he asks.

He can’t stop his smile. Logan’s heard of it. Maybe that will make this easier. “Yeah, that,” he says. “So, uh, Remus and I have that. He hears music when he looks at things, and I, uh. Well. I’ve sort of got the opposite.”

Logan stares at him. “You’re telling me,” he says, “that all these years, you’ve both perceived the world in an entirely different way from the rest of us, and you’ve never said a word about it?”

He winces. “I suppose?” he says. “Are you angry?” 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Logan is angry. He didn’t intend for Logan to be angry. He’s going to be angry if Logan is angry, angry with himself for spoiling this moment, for daring to reach for more than he could have. He should have left it alone, should have taken Logan’s enjoyment of the painting for what it was and not pushed for anything more. God, his heart feels as though it’s trying to claw its way out of his throat.

But Logan shakes his head. “No, just… surprised,” he says. “When you say you have the opposite of what Remus does, do you mean that you see images when you listen to music?”

“Sort of?” he says. “Not really images, more just arrangements of colors, if that makes sense. And I don’t actually see it with my eyes, just in my head, even though it feels like I’m seeing it with my eyes, sometimes. Even though I know I’m not really.” He pauses for a breath. He doesn’t think he’s explaining himself very well, but Logan is sill listening, so he has no choice but to push on. “And, um, not just music. Any sound, really.”

Logan nods, seeming to take it in stride. “I think I understand,” he says. “It truly is fascinating how so many of us exhibit traits and quirks that Thomas himself does not.” A measure of excitement bleeds into his voice, flaring up like the sun, and Roman resists the urge to blurt out something incredibly sappy and highly inappropriate for the moment. “So, this painting--” He glances back down at the painting, still gripped in both hands, and then abruptly stops talking.

“It’s, uh, it’s you,” Roman says, attempting to fill up the sudden quiet. “It’s your voice. I mean, it’s what I see when I hear your voice.”

“It’s… me?”

“Yes,” he says. 

“You… you see this when I talk?”

“Uh huh,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Logan’s head is lowered, his voice too soft to read well, and Roman’s nerves begin to return in full force. “Was this weird? I’m sorry if this was weird. I just, your voice is so gorgeous, and I really wanted to paint it, and I’m probably making this worse, aren’t I? If you don’t like it anymore you don’t have to keep it.”

At last, Logan raises his head. His face is burning bright red, and Roman really, really hopes it’s not in fury, hopes that he hasn’t just ruined everything. Slowly, Logan sets the painting down to rest against the wall and steps forward. Roman, for his part, is rooted in place, tracking every movement, every breath.

“Roman,” Logan says. “Don’t be idiotic.”

And then, he backs Roman against the wall and kisses him.

He doesn’t kiss like Roman would have expected. There is nothing cold about it, nothing clinical; instead, he is hard and demanding, insistent and passionate, and as soon as Roman’s brain reboots, he returns it just as eagerly, deepening it, placing his hands on the sides of Logan’s face to hold him there, hold him where he can taste him, because he has fantasized about this moment but never, ever thought that this dream could come true. And when Logan pulls back, he doesn’t go far, his face lingering bare inches from his own. His breaths puff across his skin, and behind his glasses, his pupils are dilated.

“So I take it you like it,” Roman says. His voice is hoarse.

“I do,” Logan says. His face is flushed, twisted in what is probably embarrassment, but he doesn’t look away. “And lately, I have found myself rather liking you, too. I, ah, didn’t think you returned the sentiment.”

Roman blinks, and then, throws back his head and laughs. “Are you serious?” he asks. “We could have been doing this already?” He tugs Logan’s face closer to his, resting their foreheads together. Logan turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “Just in case I didn’t make it clear,” he says, “I really, really like you, Logan.” He strokes a thumb across his cheek. “My galaxy,” he breathes. “My starlight.”

Logan makes a noise deep in the back of his throat. “Yes,” he says, and it’s almost a squeak. “That is satisfactory.”

And with that, with starlight gleaming behind his eyes and his heart tapping out double-time, Roman laughs, and pulls Logan back in.

-----

A few nights later, he finds a collection of questionably-shaped bones sitting on his dresser. He is less than enthusiastic, but Logan seems interested, so he kisses his boyfriend-- his boyfriend!-- on the top of his head and leaves him to his scientific study. Of bones. Because Logan is a weird nerd, but that’s alright, because he loves him both in spite of it and because of it. 

He just. Loves Logan. All of him. So much. And Logan likes him back, and now they’re together, and really, nothing could be better than this.

He briefly considers the merits of getting Remus a gift basket, but ultimately decides against it. They’ve never needed that sort of thing between them, and if the next time Remus intrudes on his space, he doesn’t protest as much as he usually would? Well, they both understand, and that’s more than enough.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina 

[shinydelirium]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 9 (Kiro) Final Part [Delayed Answer] & [Fissure] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

Here’s the rest of Kiro’s story from Season 2 chapter 9

For the previous translations of Season 2 Chapter 9: Part 1

Enjoy~

[Delayed Answer]

The day of the new song conference finally came to a successful conclusion.

Thinking that I could finally go home and rest at ease, I suddenly received a message from Savin, asking me to bring Kiro to the company right away.

After listening to my retelling, Kiro’s smile immediately froze on his face as if he got caught sneaking out for barbecue.

Kiro: Savin will definitely give me three hours of ideological education.

Kiro: ….Or I’ll just slip away and say that my stomach hurts.

MC: It doesn’t matter, I will help you intercede.

Kiro sighed. After thinking long and hard, he quickly aligned with me and prepared to proactively explain his mistakes.

Pushing open the door of the company, gold foil ribbons suddenly fell from the ceiling and cheers came one after another to my ears.

Kiro and I were stunned in place, surrounded by everyone.

Kiki: Congratulations to our company’s successfully held new song release conference by the ace artist, Kiro!

Willow: We did it!!!

The company is full of lights and festoons and the banners of “Today’s New Year” is displayed everywhere.

Kiro was pushed to the center of the crowd, surrounded by balloons, ribbons, and flowers. Soon, a huge cake was pushed in front of him.

Behind him was a long row of tables filled with tempting cupcakes and carbonated drinks.

A few golden letter balloons were fixed on the wall, piecing together the words “KILO”.

It turns out that everyone thought that Kiro rarely showed up these days because of the sullenness of the last storm so they prepared this surprise to cheer him up.

Kiro: Scared me to death…I thought I came to receive ideological education.

Savin: Don’t worry, there will be time for that later. ***Changed some wording***

With everyone’s urging, Kiro blew out the candles on the cake.

Kiro: Thanks, everyone!

His smile in the candlelight was captured by the camera. At this moment, the whole world is full of hope and life like never before.

After the celebration banquet, Kiro and I went to the company’s terrace for some fresh air.

As the sun sets, the evening breeze gently takes away the remaining warmth.

MC: Can you tell me now…?

MC: How did the “last-minute superhero” Kiro stop the train?

Kiro: It’s actually very simple. I briefly hacked into the car’s control system and activated the emergency braking function.

Kiro: As long as the startup program is disrupted, the train will be able to stop.

MC: What! I didn’t think of that before!

Kiro: The most important thing is that the boy changed his mind. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have worked even if I typed many lines of code.

MC: You’re right, but fortunately, he was not brainwashed by the people of GRAY RHINO.

Kiro: Because his heart has never changed.

Kiro: He lost his way and fell into a quagmire. All he needed was someone to pull him out.

Kiro: Therefore, we have also agreed that no one will say a word about what happened today.

The wind lifted his hair on his forehead and the eyes that looked at me were shining.

I nodded solemnly.

MC: No matter what, I will support your decision.

MC: What’s more, during that plane accident, he  changed his mind in the end and saved the person on that flight.

The real culprit is GRAY RHINO. They took advantage of this boy’s pain and weakness to achieve their goals.

If today’s crisis wasn’t resolved, perhaps the contradiction between Evolvers and ordinary people will incite into an unprecedented degree….

Thinking of this, my mind suddenly fell into a daze.

CORE is like a stone thrown by an invisible hand, constantly stirring up even bigger ripples. I’m also more and more certain that the most critical variable in this world is CORE.

But for most people in this world, some of them choose to move forward and some choose to retreat.

Some people stay where they are, while others are lost and don’t know where to go.

Therefore, there are many people with inconsistent paces and different destinations.

The history of this world is written by everyone, but not everyone’s fate will be recorded.

Can their voices be heard? Can these meager destinies be included in the “beautiful future” pursued by this society?

Regardless of whether it is B.S., the Special Task Force, GRAY RHINO, these self-regulated people at the forefront, how can they frame the correct choice at every step….

Kiro: What are you thinking about? Why do you show such an unhappy expression again?

I shook my head.

MC: I was just thinking that the pain I felt from that boy might only be one thousandth or one ten thousandth of how he felt.

I was able to see his past memories, but I can’t 100% feel his current pain.

Kiro put down the soda can, rested his hands on the railing, and looked at me quietly.

Kiro: Will MC suffer because of her own abilities?

I thought for a moment and shook my head seriously.

MC: Only when you are close to suffering, you are closer to reality.

MC: Isn’t it cowardly if you ignore the facts because you are afraid of pain?

MC: And so….

Before I finished speaking, Kiro suddenly took my hand and gently placed it on top of his head.

His tousled hair brushes my palm, ticklish. I looked at him, puzzled.

Kiro: Then MC can also feel my memory.

The corners of his eyes were bent, and the golden color of the setting sun seemed to flicker in his eyes.

Kiro: Since you have the ability to perceive pain, you should also have the same right to perceive happiness.

I stared blankly at him and couldn’t help but blurt out.

MC: Are you happy?

Kiro: Mm. When I’m by your side, I am happy.

MC: Is this comfort?

Kiro shook his head, giving me a serious expression.

Kiro: Not comfort, but a promise. By your side, I am happy.

The wind rustled the hair on his forehead, revealing his starry eyes and the sincere gentleness in them.

Kiro: But speaking of the topic just now, I also have a question for MC.

His tone suddenly became a little lighter.

Kiro: “If you don’t hurt people, you will be hurt”… what would you do with this choice?

MC: In fact, someone once told me this answer.

I looked into his eyes, as if I could feel a warm feeling pouring into my heart.

MC: He should be the one who chooses the latter without hesitation , but he can always get himself out of the situation.

Fresh and vivid memories. Some are complete. Some are fragmented and they converge like a river of flowing into the sea of memories little by little.

MC: But there is something he is a bit bad about—he likes to keep the secret until the end.

MC: …So I didn’t know for a long time after arriving.

Kiro blinked and suddenly sneezed twice in succession.

Kiro: Is someone speaking ill of me behind my back….?

I chuckled, the last regret in my heart seemed to disappear with the wind.

MC: Given that these days are so unlucky, let us be superstitious for a bit.

I took out a coin and put it in the palm of my hand, muttering something to the night sky.

MC: If it’s positive, it means something good will happen. If it’s negative, it means something generally good will happen----

Kiro: Miss Chips is so greedy. But----what if it’s in the middle?

MC: What a coincidence!

I retorted righteously and tossed the coin up while talking.

The silver coin drew an arc in the air. I held my breath and waited without blinking for the coin to fall back into my palm.

That’s when a cold gust of wind came and caught me off guard. With a shake of my hand, the coin slipped through my fingers. ***Changed some wording***

MC: !

Kiro clutched his stomach and laughed, but I could only watch the coin fall downstairs.

MC: Unexpectedly, there is such a thing as bad luck…

Hearing me sigh, he stopped laughing and looked at me seriously and tenderly.

Kiro: Maybe God thinks that this answer should not be revealed now.

Kiro: So, let us leave everything to the unknown tomorrow.

[Fissure]

The night is dark, like a deep ocean with turbulent undercurrents and unknown crises lurking within.

The old streets that no one cares about in the city form a narrow, unnamed area. Only a few dirty, industrial buildings stand here.

This is the Secret Research Institute of B.S.

I hurried out of the elevator, walked through the dark corridor, and opened one of the hidden doors.

I put the documents in my hand on the table and told the B.S. researchers who looked at each other.

MC: Help me find something.

MC: Without my permission, do not disclose it to anyone and do not tell anyone that I have been here.

MC: Including BOSS.

B.S. Researcher: But Miss Nox, this is not compliant—

MC: Don’t forget that I have the first level permission of B.S.

The winter seems to have sneaked into the city quietly and every narrow street has been immersed in the precipitous chill.

When I left this building, I finally breathed a sigh of relief.

The roof of the building in the distance seemed to glint with a hint of pure silver, almost melting into the moonlight.

I couldn’t help but look back, only to find that the streak of silver was gone.

A black shadow flashed in the night sky, and it quickly melted into the dark.

All the hustle and bustle in the city, the noise of people underneath.

As the cold wind passed by, he stared at the street where he lived alone in the night, holding his breath for the appearance of a figure.

??: Helios, it’s time for you to act.

Helios: I’m not doing things for you. You’re not qualified to order me.

The person on the opposite end sighed softly.

??: There has always been a big misunderstanding between us. In other words, between B.S. and GRAY RHINO.

??: I hope that our future cooperation can be built on the basis of mutual trust.

Helios: The assumption is that you don’t do unnecessary stupid things.

Helios: If you want to get something like that, just do as I say.

Helios cut off the call impatiently, and the man’s hypocritical voice made him feel very disgusted.

As far as he can see, a figure finally walks out of the building’s door.

He watched the figure until the girl disappeared into the night.

He pressed his lips, pulled the rope fixed to his waist, and jumped off the billboard.

The dark figure jumped vigorously, following the rope in his hand, simply and neatly, and quietly entered the building from the window.

??: Who are you!

Helios: Don’t move.

The researcher who had just picked up the gun was caught off guard against the man’s golden eyes, and suddenly his fingers on the trigger were unable to exert force.

The man played with the knife in his hand, walked to the table, and his eyes fell on the experimental report.

Helios: Did she only leave this thing?

B.S. Researcher: …..

Helios: Answer me.

The golden light flashed in the man’s eyes, and his raised voice was like an unsheathed coldness.

This invisible power. His vocal cord muscles contracted uncontrollably and a word was slowly squeezed out of his throat.

B.S. Researcher: ….Yes.

He finally remembered the identity of the man in front of him and the legends about him circulating in the organization.

B.S. Researcher: You, you are….

Before he could recall his name, the man had already turned around.

Under the dim light, he suddenly turned his head and the corner of his mouth formed into a mocking arc.

Helios: I command you all—

Helios: Forget everything that happened just now.

“The train will be arriving shortly, please stand behind the safety line and wait in an orderly manner…”

The first ray of morning light came into the platform. The boy remembered yesterday’s ordeal and subconsciously took a step back.

But soon, what the blond man had said, rang in his ears--

Kiro: Those who use past experiences to deny themselves are cowardly people.

Kiro: Don’t believe in the stories told by others, let alone the signs of the destiny you have altered.

These words shone like a beam of light into the abyss of his heart.

He made up his mind that no matter what the people in that organization say, he will not waver, let alone contact them again.

Thinking of this, he took a lively step forward.

He can do anything that makes him strong. Such as, submitting a transfer application form. Or give a severe beating to those who bullied him in the past.

And his Evol should be his booster, taking him to farther destinations, just like the train he is about to board.

The train stopped in front of the platform. The sound of running tracks overwhelmed the small sound of bullets in the air as well as the sound of the boy hitting the ground.

The gunpowder smoke from the muzzle quickly dissipated into the air like white mist from the breaths of pedestrians in winter.

The train doors opened and a few passengers stepped out of the carriage, yawning.

Soon, screams and chaotic footsteps filled the entire station.

The tall man standing at the top of the stairs grinned slightly, his smile fleeting. He put the gun into his sleeve and turned briskly to leave.

??: Mission completed.

The passengers panicked as messy, bloody foot-prints were left on the floor tiles.

??: The bait is ready and the fish should be hooked.

[sondepoch]

50 Days Before Rebellion

All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

The current ruling class is brutal. Draconian. Tyrannical. Every demon who has sat the throne for the past ninety thousand years has brought nothing but hardship to the Devildom—something Diavolo and his father intend to remedy by seizing power as leaders of the Resistance. When Diavolo happens to come across the princess of the Devildom, he’s overjoyed. He sees you as an opportunity, a sign from a higher power that his cause is just; and he plans to use you as a pawn in his Rebellion. But life rarely goes as planned, especially in Hell. And when Diavolo realizes that he’s falling in love with you, things suddenly feel a lot more complicated than they used to be.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

MASTERLIST

The world has finally slowed down.

The wind is calmer now. The blades of grass that tickle Diavolo's sides don't poke into his skin, merely brushing by as the tips bend back and forth with the breeze. The vines on the trees don't seem to swing so ominously anymore, instead swaying to and fro as if dancing to the lilting melody that escapes your lips as you hum an unfamiliar tune.

The animals on the cliffside seem equally entranced by the picture of peace, undead chipmunks no longer scurrying in a rush as they instead watch the two of you from a distance, all of them mesmerized. A few brave creatures draw close enough to sniff at Diavolo's feet.

Indeed, the world truly has slowed down.

Diavolo can close his eyes and feel the rhythm of the Devildom ground lurking just under the hum of your voice, pulsing silently to the beat of magic. And indeed, even that is fainter than Diavolo recalls, everything around him muted and subdued but the sensation of your touch.

He opens his eyes lazily, studying your face. Your focus remains on his hair, of course, determined to free the red locks that have been knotted for so long. It's only an issue of convenience that Diavolo is allowed to rest his head on your thighs as you work, fingers feeling blissfully sweet even when they tug sharply on the strands that are so deeply entangled.

She's a goddess, the demon thinks, eyes studying your surreal beauty as he observes you from this new angle. He can never grow used to the sight of your face, not fully. No matter how beautiful you look in his mind's eye, reality is always sweeter. It's as if his brain truly cannot process something as wondrous as you, and your brilliance is brighter than anything Diavolo will ever be able to comprehend.

A goddess I must slay, the demon adds in shame, extending a hand up to cup your face as you work, caressing your jaw from this new angle.

"What is it, darling?" You murmur, never taking your eyes off Diavolo's hair as you address him. "Am I hurting you?"

You pause your work, withdrawing the shark tooth comb to massage his scalp a bit.

"No, not at all." Diavolo smiles. "Just thinking about how much I'd like to kiss you."

And how, one day, I will be unable to.

You laugh at that, a rich melody spilling from your lips that Diavolo wishes he could bottle in a jar, but it builds in your throat and bursts like a firework, gracing the air with its presence as every animal pauses to bask in the sound.

"You're so silly, do you know that?" You don't wait to lean forward, kissing Diavolo upside down on the lips before another giggle escapes you.

You're about to pull away, then. About to withdraw, about to return to toying with the demon's hair until it finally takes the shape you're envisioning. But before you can so much as lift your upper body, Diavolo's arms have shot up to grip your waist, making use of the full scope of his strength to lift you off the ground and flip you atop him, ignoring your undignified screech upon being thrust into the air.

"Rule four," Diavolo mumbles into your ear, snaking an arm around your waist as he traps you in the same inescapable grip you've held him in so many times before. "Never let your opponent catch you off-guard."

The demon smirks.

"That's in combat, you absolute buffoon," You mumble, swatting Diavolo's hands in an attempt to get him to let go. Of course, the demon ignores you entirely, rolling you onto your side to nuzzle your neck, peppering the skin there with kisses.

As usual, you can only pretend to resist him for so long before you relax in his arms, grumbling quietly about his hair.

"You can work on my hair later, love," Diavolo mumbles, breathing in your scent deeply, wishing he could mark you with his own.

"You've been saying that for the past month, Diavolo," You chide. "That's how it got so tangled in the first place."

But the demon ignores your words entirely, grinning as he continues to kiss up and down your body until the only sounds that leave your mouth are gasps of quiet contentment. "Diavolo," You mumble when his hands slip beneath your robe, his skin finding your bare shoulder now that it's no longer hidden by silk.

"D-Diavolo," You repeat when he pulls your robe down just the slightest, savoring the softness of your skin. Indeed, it's softer than any fabric he's ever touched, smoother and sweeter, and he just wants to go a little lower to see if—"Diavolo," You gasp, stiffening in his hold as you grab the robe he had been slipping down your shoulder.

"What?" The demon asks in alarm, eyes wide. You've never looked so uncomfortable in his hold. "Darling?" He asks, leaning back. "Was this not okay? Fu—I mean, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

"No," You mumble, eyes still not fully set on the demon. Diavolo follows your concerned gaze, his eyebrows furrowing when he doesn't see anything. But then he studies the ground a little more and his eyes fall upon what has you frozen so uncomfortably, and the demon groans as you try to explain.

"There's a baby squirrel watching us."

You feel kind of bad.

You didn't mean to let that undead squirrel cockblock Diavolo earlier, but it felt so unnatural to do anything intimate with such youthful eyes watching. Of course, your lover had wasted no time in chasing the chipmunk away, but when he returned, the mood was completely lost, and you could only giggle while Diavolo scowled in annoyance, reluctantly letting you comb through the rest of his hair.

"Don't pout," You mumble, threading your hands through the red, watching your fingers disappear and reappear. You're quite proud of your work, given that Diavolo's hair looked worse than a stray dog's in the morning, and it's hard to stop savoring the fruits of your three-hour-long labor. "My mother used to say that if you frown like that, your face will get stuck that way."

"Was your mother also the one who taught you to be prim and proper around baby squirrels?" Diavolo practically hisses, and then you've descended into another fit of laughter while the demon continues to pout.

Ordinarily, you wouldn't mind jumping onto his lap and kissing him into oblivion, until he's so blissed out that the demon has no choice but to finish what you started so that you can fuck each other into oblivion like the demons you are. But the sight of those oh so innocent animal eyes lingers with you, and the most intimate thing you can do is press a peck to Diavolo's cheek before tugging him to his feet, where you stand in front of him with pride.

"I know what will make you feel better," You declare confidently, hands on your hips.

"Killing that baby squirrel? Yeah, I'd do it too, if I could catch the bastard."

"No," You mumble, rolling your eyes playfully. You square Diavolo's shoulders, pushing his fists to his chest before you take your own stance four feet away. "Combat." You grin. "Fight your frustrations out."

The usual phrase is to fuck your frustrations out, but you've never had a problem with making exceptions for Diavolo.

"Really?" The demon groans, arching an eyebrow. "I know this is part of your plan to train me for the next cage fighting season, don't think that I—"

"Oh, hush," You cut him off, frowning. It takes little effort for you to pretend to be offended. Of course, he's absolutely right with that guess, but you're not going to let him realize that until you've weaseled him into the actual season competition. "Physical activity is known to be one of the best methods for relieving frustration," You inform the demon, beginning to circle him. "And it's said that the more frustrations you're harboring, the better your performance will be."

"I can think of a much better physical activity to relieve stress than this," Diavolo mutters under his breath, adopting his own fighting stance.

"What's that?" You ask, wanting the demon to repeat himself.

"N-nothing," Diavolo mumbles, his ears turning red.

How cute.

You waste no time on straying on the thought, though. It takes all of four seconds for you to throw the first punch.

And then the fight has begun.

Diavolo's progress as a student has been impressive, to say the least. He's successfully followed your every instruction perfectly, and the once awkward, heavy-footed man has become nearly as adept and mobile as you. If anything, his overall power is now probably more than your own, given that his hulking frame allows him to pack more power in a single punch than you can ever hope to achieve without using magic, and now that his injuries have fully healed, there's nothing hindering his full potential.

It's out of sheer willpower that you've managed to retain your winning streak thus far.

Your eyes are impossibly alert as Diavolo dodges every arm, knee, elbow you try to hit him with. Your technique is simple: keep the overwhelmingly strong demon on defense until you break through his shield, and never allow him to use any of that explosive strength.

Except that your technique usually needs to change halfway through every fight.

It takes Diavolo less time than usual to turn the tables on you—a testimony to how irate he truly must have already been—and then you're the one defending, ducking and diving to avoid his every assault.

It's pure luck that the two of you happen to be sparring here, of all places. You noticed the way the grounds on this cliffside literally morph to your aid, the grass twisting to prevent you from ever stumbling and tree roots magically appearing whenever you need something to bounce off of. Initially, you assumed that the ground here was equally resourceful to Diavolo, but weeks upon weeks of sparring has taught you that you're the only one with the upper hand. And thank goodness for that—because if you and Diavolo were to spar in front of the Temple of the Grim Reaper, where the two of you are evenly matched with nothing to weigh the odds in your favor, you know you'd lose to the demon.

And someone being stronger than you is a feat that not even the current Victor can claim—the very reason you want Diavolo to enter the cage fights so badly.

You spring backward when Diavolo attempts to punch you in the chest, knowing that a single hit will knock you out if you face it head-on. Defending his kicks are a little easier, given that you can use your own legs to hold him back, but the days where the two of you would spar and you'd end the fight without Diavolo ever landing a hit on you are over. Now, you have to block each kick manually, nearly every attack too well-placed for you to successfully dodge.

The fight lasts a long time. Your bodies dance back and forth over the whole field, occasionally crossing into the swamp as you continue to attack and evade, hit and jump, dive and deflect.

As usual, you both steer clear of the cliffside, the sharp drop too large for either of you to ever risk falling into—but today, the fight seems to carry more weight. This one is longer, perhaps longer than any of them have ever been. And you're certain that Diavolo is beginning to realize that he just might be able to beat you.

You dart back as he throws another kick your way, hesitating briefly when you realize that you can't see the cliffside anywhere. You glance right as Diavolo punches, left when he thrusts an uppercut your way, and forward again as he tries to grab your throat—and only then do you realize that the cliffside must be behind you, and that the swamp is far too distant for you to have much space between the steep drop and your own current position.

You nearly stumble forward when Diavolo tries to grab your leg, momentarily fearful that you'll back off the side of the cliff, but then the abrupt realization that the demon is still fighting and kicking convinces you that you must be a suitable distance away from the drop, and you take another step backward.

What a terrible mistake.

There's a moment where you're awkwardly balanced on air, one leg holding you up while the other searches desperately for footing, and you and Diavolo exchange a look of pure fear.

And then you're falling.

Diavolo reacts quicker than you've ever seen him move, scrambling forward to grab your wrist, reaching for the right, fingers drawing closer and closer. You reach your hand out in a gesture of desperation, trying oh so desperately to grab his hand—but the demon switches gears completely and dives forward to reach your left hand, his finger wrapping around your weaker wrist before throwing your body over the cliffside, never letting go even as you fly over the cliffside and land back on the ground, where the demon traps you underneath his own frame.

You blink, abruptly unsure of how the demon managed to turn the tables so quickly when usually you would have been able to squirm out of his hold.

And a memory surfaces in your mind.

"Do you know what they say?" You continued, rambling on despite knowing that the demon didn't particularly care. "Sometimes, when you get injured, your body is even stronger when it heals back!"

"I'm sure," Diavolo said drily, sarcasm laced so thickly into his voice that there was no doubt he didn't believe your words.

"It's true!" You protested, pausing in wrapping his forearm in gauze to show the demon your wrist. "Look, can't you see the scar? I injured my wrist there a few centuries ago. And I thought it would trouble me for the rest of my life, but it healed wonderfully under the same herbs and treatments I'm giving you. And now, my right wrist is miles stronger than my left, even though my left is the one that's never been injured!"

Your eyes widen when you realize that the demon actually remembers your words from back then.

Within seconds, he's got one hand wrapped around your throat and the other continues to grip your left wrist, your stronger hand held under Diavolo's foot, which presses down insistently as you struggle.

"No way," You mumble, writhing once more in an attempt to escape his hold. But you've taught Diavolo well—too well—and his grip is unrelenting.

"Goddammit!" You shout in frustration, the fight filtering out of your body when you see how powerless you are in this position. "You—you cheated! That wasn't fair! You didn't fight honorably!"

But the underlying message is clear.

You lost.

The demon holds you for a second longer, the triumphant (and slightly awed) grin on his face almost melting your inner frustration at losing, but then he lets go, and his smile is so big and happy that you can't be even a little upset when he wraps you in a hug.

"I did it!" The demon shouts into your ear, and you flinch away at the noise. "I actually did it! I beat you!"

"You cheated," You mumble under your breath, looking away in mild embarrassment as the demon continues to celebrate.

"Maybe," Diavolo comments, eyes twinkling. "But you told me that everything's fair on the battlefield, and the fact remains that I won, and you lost."

"Yeah, yeah," You mumble, scowling. "Just rub it in, why don't you? And what would you have done if your little plan hadn't worked? Would you have just watched me fall off that cliff?"

"No," Diavolo says innocently, smiling. "I would have jumped off with you!"

Cue a firm smack on the back of the head.

Diavolo continues smiling, though, his mood completely lifted now that he's won a fight against you for the first time.

"Hey, hey," He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. "Aren't you proud of me?" He asks. "Tell me how proud you are, darling," He kisses your neck. "Isn't it such a turn on that I'm stronger than you?"

"Yeah," You mutter under your breath, scowling. "You cheated. Very sexy."

But Diavolo pays you no heed, only continuing to kiss every inch of skin that's exposed, his tongue darting out to push your robe down.

"Diavolo," You warn, opening an eye to glance around in case there are any more baby squirrels watching. But when you find none, you relax a little more, leaning against the demon as he makes his way up to your ear, leaving a long, wet kiss against the shell.

"I can't stay too long," You mumble, though your words sound more like moans. "I have to...something...home…" You close your eyes fully when you feel teeth scrape your neck, too occupied with savoring the feeling of Diavolo to bother coming up with any of your terrible lies.

"Yeah right," The demon mumbles, his hand settling over your waist. "If you were actually going to leave, you would have left half an hour ago."

Your eyes snap open at that.

"What?" You flinch, instinctively glancing up at the moon. And, sure enough, it's position in the sky is much further along than where it usually is when you leave, and alarms begin blaring in your head. "Oh no," You mumble, gripping Diavolo's hand. "I'm so sorry, Diavolo, but I really do have to—"

"It's okay."

Diavolo smiles at you, a sweet and charming grin that melts your heart. "Go ahead, darling, and I'll be here when you come back at night."

"You don't want to return to the Temple of the Grim Reaper?" You ask, thinking about how much warmer the holy shelter you first brought him to is.

"Uh," Diavolo shoots a skeptical glance toward the swamp you're about to pass through on your way back to the palace. "I don't really want to cross the..."

"Swamp. Right," You mumble. You see a moment of offense flare in Diavolo's eyes, as if he still isn't sure whether you genuinely believe him when he claims that the swamp attacks him as he passes through it (which, to some degree you don't; but you know that it does something to him based on the sounds he makes when he follows you, so you're certain there's some truth to his words) before a calmer look passes through his eyes.

"We'll talk more when you get back, alright?" Diavolo offers you a silly smile, giving you a casual wink before he blows you a kiss.

"Alright," You mumble, already planning your nightly escape for when you'll return to spend more time with him. "And Diavolo?" You call, turning back.

The demon arches an eyebrow at you, already sitting back down on the ground where he probably intends to slumber for the next few hours.

"I really am proud of you."

"Thank you for the royal silks, princess! You truly are too kind!"

"I received your fruit bouquet, miss! You have my thanks!"

"I am in your debt, my lady! The decorative candles you sent were stunning!

"Princess, princess! Thank you for the flower arrangement!"

"My sister and I loved the dresses you sent, my lady! Thank you!"

You can barely hear the sound of your own thoughts as you pass through the halls of the palace, curtsying in response to every expression of gratitude, offering as many smiles as you can to those around you. It's impossible for you to properly acknowledge each of the maids and knights you delivered gifts to (and you now think that it may have been a better idea to have spread the presents out, rather than deliver them all on the same night), but you can't help the overwhelming satisfaction that fills your heart at seeing such merriment in the palace.

"Princess."

You instinctively curtsy at the knight who stands before you, assuming that he's another person who wishes to thank you for your gift—but a glance forward reveals that it's a familiar face, the very knight who's been keeping you company in the palace. When he holds his hand up, the remaining knights and maids who had been chasing after you to thank you grow silent, and you can feel the crowd disperse under his strict glare.

You toss a sheepish glance behind you, deciding that you'll properly talk to each individual person at a later date, and one-by-one rather than all at once, but a certain relief does fill your heart when you realize that they're not all clambering after you anymore.

"Thank you, Sire," You whisper to the knight in front of you, grinning. "I had not realized that my actions would cause such a stir in the palace."

"I believe I am the one who should be thanking you, princess." The knight gestures for you to walk ahead of him, as is customary for a knight and a princess, but you pull him into stride with you as you make your way to your quarters. "The painter you commissioned showed me some of his past works. I never expected that I would be painted at this young an age, and much less with a royal-caliber artist, but...you have my sincerest gratitude."

You beam at the man, not missing the faint flush on the knight's face when he sees your smile. "I'm glad you like him. He was the painter my parents commissioned to draw me when I turned of age, actually."

"Really?" The knight chokes. "You commissioned such a prestigious painter to draw a mere knight?"

You frown at that.

"You are not a mere knight. The fact that you are a knight alone should be a source of pride, Sire." You pause, realizing that you're at the door to your private chambers. But still, you don't enter. Nor do you dismiss the knight next to you.

"Princess?" The demon questions, glancing at you nervously.

"Are you proud to serve the crown, Sire?" The question is sharp, demanding an immediate answer.

"It will be an honor when I am allowed to serve under you," The knight responds swiftly, and you can tell from the way he says the words that he means them.

"But are you proud to serve the current crown?"

"Yes, princess."

But the flat inflection of the demon's voice is proof enough that the words are just that: words. They do not go deeper, they do not resonate with his heart, they do not march to the beat that he holds his weapon to. This knight may serve the crown but there is no pride there—a fact which brings a smile to your face.

"Sire," You call, urging him to face you. "Sire, I assure you that when I take the crown, I will not rule as my parents do. When the first snow falls, when the public learns the truth, when the world watches the Devildom take a new empress, there will be change everywhere."

A confident smile spreads across your face as you speak of the news your parents informed you of—the best news of your life. "When I step to the imperial throne at the end of this year, I will make you and every other knight proud to serve the royal palace. I will bring food, water, joy, and happiness to the poverty districts. I will restore balance to the laws of magic and permit its usage among those beyond the imperial family. I will withdraw our troops from the public's homes, and I will restore knights to their proper position of being defenders of the people rather than forced oppressors."

"I…" The demon trails off. "I believe you, princess. And when you become Empress upon the first snow of this year, I will be as devoted to your cause as you are. But why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Sire," You say, a small grin finding its way onto your face. "When the day comes where I become Empress, I will need a knight of honor. A knight solely devoted to me, my safety, and my life."

"And…" The demon trails off, his eyes growing wide.

"And I want you to take that position, Sire." You smile proudly at his utterly bewildered expression, warmth filling your heart at the pure joy that surfaces in his eyes. "Would you do me the honor?"

"O-of course, princess!" The knight practically shouts, dropping to a knee and drawing his sword instantly, offering it to you.

You take it from his hands proudly, testing the weight of the steel in your own grip before laying the blade from shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, saying the honorary words you memorized so many years ago. You know you'll need to repeat this all at a ceremony later, when you truly are Empress and there are witnesses, but the moment that this knight is bound to you begins now—and you know he will guard you with his life, whether the bond is formalized or not.

"I will guard you with my life, princess," The knight vows solemnly, looking up at you with eyes of pure adoration. "When you take the throne this winter, as the first snow graces the Devildom skies, I will be by your side, and I will defend you from now until the end of time."

You smile softly, letting the knight complete his vow.

"As long as I live, you shall be protected. As long as my sword stands between you and an enemy, I will fight for your life. As long as my body can move, as long as my heart beats, as long as the blood in my body is warm, there will be no threat great enough to harm you. I pledge my life, heart, mind, and soul to you, princess. I will be your shield and sword, and I am yours from this moment until the end of time. I give to you my future, and with it every ounce of my strength, pride, and loyalty, such that you are protected into eternity."

"Thank you, Sire," You whisper, placing a hand on his shoulders, watching him rise. "I trust you with my life."

The demon bows, his eyes meeting yours only when you urge him to, and then you recognize an unspoken curiosity that hadn't been there before.

"Sire," You call, urging him to be candid. "There is something else on your mind, is there not? Let there be no hesitation between us. Ask your question."

"Ah, well…" The demon trails off. "I was merely wondering if you or your parents had selected an Emperor to rule with you. You need not answer my question, of course, it's merely a curiosity. A trifling matter. Trivial, really. I don't mean to imply anything at all—"

"Sire." You cut him off smoothly, raising a hand. You offer him a sympathetic smile, quietly realizing that there must have been some hope in his mind that your heart would be unclaimed. After all, it's hardly rare for a knight and a princess to rule together—what better way to combine knowledge of the battlefield and politics than to wed two people who specialize in both? Alas, the time you've spent away from the palace has given rise to some deeper feelings, and the moment the knight muttered the word Emperor, only one demon's face could come to mind.

The man who nearly threw you off a cliff two hours ago.

"My heart belongs to another," You say, placing a tender hand on the knight's shoulder. "And I will introduce you to him one day. Perhaps sooner than I will introduce him to others. But…"

"I understand," The knight says, bowing his head respectfully. "I will await that day with pleasure, princess."

You nod your head, offering the demon another curtsy before you turn around to open the door to your private quarters.

But the call of your title makes you turn around.

"Princess?" The knight asks, somewhat meekly.

"Yes, Sire?"

"This...this man you speak of. The one who has claimed your heart, and whom you intend on making Emperor. He wouldn't…"

"Speak your mind, Sire." You watch with curiosity as the demon struggles to find his words, evidently choosing them carefully.

"He wouldn't...hurt you, would he?"

Diavolo? You wonder. Hurt me? The very thought makes you laugh—why, the demon can hardly land a punch on you during training without gasping and checking to see if your alright, the very notion of him ever injuring you brings an amused smile to your face.

"No, Sire. He would never hurt me," You declare confidently, smiling.

And as the two of you part, as you enter your private chambers and settle down, you've never been more certain of anything in your whole life.

Diavolo waits with an utterly unreadable expression on his face.

He's not waiting for you to return—though he knows, based on the location of the moon, that you should be approaching the cliffside sometime soon.

No, he's waiting for his father.

The elder demon has been increasing his visits to Diavolo's mind as of late, repeatedly checking in on his son to ensure that the future prince has not been growing too smitten with you to be of use to the Resistance. Ordinarily, Diavolo wouldn't care for his father's visits much—in fact, he actively dreads them, since he finds himself constantly being reminded of what he will eventually have to do to you—but yesterday, the elder demon had said there would be a surprise for Diavolo the next day.

And as old as Diavolo is, he's always enjoyed a good surprise.

But still, the expression on his face is something that no one would be able to read.

Not even himself.

His face is torn between a wistful blankness and an angry scorn, an odd combination of the two which has scared off most of the local animals. All his thoughts are focused on the situation at hand.

Namely, you.

Well, you certainly seem to be having a difficult time over there.

Diavolo flinches when the buzz of magic washes through his body, but this feeling is different. The magic has a different quality to it, not oppressive and heavy but instead light and...it vaguely reminds him of tea?

Diavolo shakes his head, his mouth hanging ajar when he registers who that voice belongs to—a voice he hasn't heard in all too long.

"No way," The demon murmurs, eyes wide.

Ah, so you can hear me. I was worried that I was performing the spell incorrectly, but it appears I succeeded.

"Barbatos!" Diavolo practically shouts, jumping up. He's abruptly overcome by an overwhelming urge to hug his friend, but, well, the magic is nothing but telepathy, and the green-eyed demon is nowhere to be found.

Lower your voice, my lord. This connection goes two-ways, and you're practically shouting into my head right now.

"You never told me you were learning magic!" Diavolo exclaims, entirely shocked. "And how many times have I told you not to call me your lord? We haven't even taken the palace yet!"

A low chuckle fills Diavolo's ears, but for once, the demon doesn't tense at the sound. It's not abrasive and ominous, like his father's. No, the sound of Barbatos on the other line is nothing but comforting, and it gives Diavolo a strange sense of relief.

Your father taught me. And please, my lord, you don't need to be humble. You and I both know that as long as you complete your task with the princess, Rebellion will succeed no matter what.

"Oh," Diavolo mumbles, voice flat. "So, is that it? Father sent you to make sure that I'm not stepping out of line with the princess? So that I don't betray the Resistance? Well, you can tell him that—"

Actually, my lord, my decision to speak with you was of my own volition.

Diavolo is silent.

I thought...that you might need a friend to talk to.

Diavolo's shoulders slump. "How much do you know?" He asks wearily, eyes drooping as he flops to the ground. Barbatos is absolutely right, of course—the demon has never needed a friend more than in this moment—but Diavolo needs to understand how much of the truth the demon already knows.

In truth? Roughly everything. Your father asked me to check on you using my powers, so I've observed up until the present for this timeline.

"Roughly everything?" Diavolo asks, ears perking up. "What haven't you seen?"

Ah, well. Barbatos is uncomfortably silent for a second. I tend to skip ahead whenever I see you and the princess growing intimate in my visions.

"Wha—" Diavolo chokes on his words, a furious flush painting his cheeks. "The princess and I have never been intimate, Barbatos. We've never had sex!"

I'm sure, my lord.

"Believe me!"

I do, my lord.

Diavolo groans. But he can tell from the playful inflection of his friend's voice that the demon is just teasing, in his own special way. And after being gone for so long, Diavolo realizes that he's missed it.

"So…" The demon trails off, his voice growing serious. "If you've seen all that, you know my issue, then. You know that I…" Diavolo swallows, abruptly realizing the words that he's never even admitted to himself yet.

"I love her," He murmurs with a strange wistfulness.

Yes, Barbatos says. I've seen you. And you should know, my lord; she is equally infatuated with you.

"Bet all that infatuation will disappear when she watches me kill her family in front of her, right?" Diavolo's voice is dry, and the humor to his joke falls on deaf ears. "Tell me, Barbatos, is there any reality where Rebellion succeeds, and I don't have to watch her die?"

Barbatos's silence is a bigger answer than his words.

"I thought so."

Diavolo…

Barbatos trails off, unsure of how to help the demon. Even the honorific is dropped, and abruptly, the conversation switches from servant and master to just two friends talking, one about to get their heart ripped to shreds.

If it helps, she doesn't hate you in all the timelines.

"She doesn't?"

Sometimes…sometimes, if you explain things to her, she understands. But you have to make her understand. She... it's going to be hard to explain to her why she cannot live, why people will only fear her no matter how good a ruler she tries to be. After all, there is a reason why she is the key to Rebellion. And if you can make her see why, then maybe, just maybe, she might…

"She might willingly let me execute her in front of the masses?" The demon leans back on the ground, frowning. He's not sure if that situation is better or worse than you actively hating him.

She won't be willing. But...she won't hate you, either.

"And is this timeline one of those instances?" Diavolo's fingers dig into the grass, hopeful.

That depends on you, Diavolo. But the princess is a good person on the side of evil. And she can never change that—the masses will always know and recognize her as the tyrants' daughter. There can be no peace for the world until every member of the royal family is erased from existence.

“Barbatos,” Diavolo mumbles under his breath.

Yes?

"If the princess is a good person on the wrong side, then what am I?" Diavolo looks up at the sky, oddly enough, like he's asking God for the answer instead of his old friend. "How can I call myself..."

You are a good person, Diavolo. The fact that you are so torn up over this decision is proof of that very fact.

"Does a good person kill another good person?" Diavolo asks. "Is that the world that we're fighting for? How can we have good people on the side of evil if there are no evil people on the side of good?"

Do you want to know the truth, Diavolo?

"Only if it's coming from you, Barbatos."

Your father.

"Huh?" The demon asks, raising his eyebrows in confusion. "What about my father?"

Your father is the man you are looking for: an evil person who was born on the side of good. Either your father will have you kill the princess, or to save your princess, you must kill your father—but you know what you must do. No matter what, should you choose to defend the princess, you are defending a good person. But the moment you choose her, you are siding with evil. And as soon as you do that, your father will not hesitate to wipe you out with the princess. And when that happens, he will be the sole inheritor of the Devildom, and our kingdom will be ruled for eternity by an evil man.

"You're really giving me no choice here, Barbatos," Diavolo mumbles under his breath.

Because you are too honorable a man for this to be an issue of choice, Diavolo. Your father will be the demon king, no matter what. It is only a question of whether you will be there to succeed him—whether you will be able to be the final inheritor of the Devildom. And if you are not, then this world really is doomed.

And there it is.

The overwhelming truth.

The god awful realization that holds Diavolo in place.

He is the only barrier between an eternity of torment for the Devildom and an eternity of peace. He is the difference between the Devildom remaining the Devildom or it becoming true Hell. Under his father, the people may suffer just as poorly as they are under the current tyrants—but under Diavolo, they will be free.

And the price for an eternity of freedom?

You.

One life against an infinite amount of others.

One life against an endless amount of happiness.

One life against an eternity of peace, prosperity, and bliss.

One life to save the realm.

The question plaguing Diavolo's mind was never a question; there was only ever one answer. One choice. One option for the demon who has a heart too good for those around him.

"So, what do you suggest I do?" Diavolo asks drily, staring up at the midnight sky. "How can I look the princess in the eye and hold her close when I know I'll be her end? How can I do anything at all without hurting her in some way?"

Have you ever heard of living in the moment, my lord?

Diavolo's lips curve upward, recalling your words to him from just one month ago as you demanded so breathily that he abandon his reservations and kiss you.

"I have, Barbatos."

Then you know what to do.

And for the first time, Diavolo truly does. Even if he hates it.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: Here's a list of a few other original titles I went through ^^ The Tragedy of Julius Caesar / The Tragedy of Diavolo / The Price of Power / Hellfire Sings / Masses Have Mercy / Beauty and the Beast / We All Fall Down / The Ultimate Sacrifice / And I Wait / - Each title carried different meanings, but my favorite was the Tragedy of Julius Caesar. I'll explain this in chapter 7 :D

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Next Update: 9/02/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[coeurdastronaute]

The Story, Ch. 4

Previously on The Story

The sun finally disappeared for the first time in weeks. Defiantly it tried to shine through the thin layer of clouds that blew in from the northeast, burning them off, or at least doing its best. The air had a stiff breeze to it, pushing around the oppressive humidity, as if it could help, when really it just smeared it into the wound. 

Dani stood in the kitchen and sipped a glass of water in the quiet that seemed to come after lunch had dispersed. Off to their own devices, the children could be heard occasionally, playing or arguing or running with heavy feet down the halls. 

For just a moment, Dani allowed herself one instant to look out at the clouds and wonder if this was some kind of religion, the unrelenting hope and belief in the inevitable, the near satisfaction of it actually happening, the eager waiting, the small sample of euphoria, the fulfilment of a promise. There was a mild intoxication in the lust of it, the build up. 

Longingly, Dani leaned against the lip of the sink and followed the heaviness of the clouds as they moved along, teasing and taunting, plump with rain for another city or ocean or country. 

From across the way, she watched the gardener emerge from behind the old, ivy-laced wall, and for some reason she sunk a little deeper into her relaxed pose. She took a larger gulp from her glass. 

The well-worn overalls hung on one strap, the leg on one side rolled up a little bit, while the shirt beneath had been cut up to accommodate the season, the holes for the arm dipping low enough to expose ribs, and high enough to show that line of deltoid. All too suddenly, Jamie dropped her supplies she’d been carrying and began digging through them. 

It did nothing to wake Dani from the dream she’d been having, nor did it do anything to untangle itself from the sudden fervor the au pair suddenly had for rain. Instead, the fanaticism for the passing clouds was applied to the streak of sweat down Jamie’s arm, cutting through the dirt there and dripping off at a pointed elbow. 

She wasn’t tall, she wasn’t large or imposing, but Jamie had a sense of space and she took it up with her confidence. Dani liked to watch her move because she moved with purpose. The cut in her arm, in her bicep, it existed for a reason. The litheness, the wallowness of her bones and curves, they were a result of bending and reaching and stretching, of molding and making and living. 

Somewhat aware of the unabashed lurking, Dani looked around the kitchen, straining for noises or footsteps or anyone, really, to catch her in the act. That was how she knew it wasn’t right, though she wasn’t sure how. 

There was a moment that Dani leaned forward, a little closer to the window, clutched her glass a little tighter in her hands. She watched as Jamie began reaching up toward the top of the wall, tying back some of the vines.  

Similar to the buzzing, vibrating, humming feeling she remembered from the pond, that twisting and warmth deep in her stomach, the lightness and tightness, all at once in her chest, Dani felt it all again gradually descend upon her. She did everything to avoid looking at Jamie at the lake, and she thought she had, but still, she remembered the shape of her belly button and the notch of her spine, the dip in her shoulders and the mold of her knees. 

Now, too, Dani found herself remembering it all in flashes that made it difficult to breathe, in a way that made her thirst for rain. 

A crash from upstairs pulled the au pair from her indoctrination quickly. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the noise before going off in search of whatever maybe the children could have caused this time. 

XXXXXXXXXX

With an upward glance, the gardener wiped the sweat on her chest and her forehead as the afternoon waned toward evening despite the consistent heat that sizzled. All was quiet around, the children in the house or on the other side of the grounds, the bugs sick of humming and buzzing for the day, taking off early to find some rest. 

Prepared to wrap up for the day, Jamie surveyed the work of the day, the trellis repair and the trimming back of overzealous summer buds. It was hard but honest work and she enjoyed that moment of accomplishment. 

Once more, she looked around to assure herself that not tiny eyes would catch her in the act, or worse yet, that Hannah wouldn’t catch her again, and she dug a cigarette out of the pack in her pocket. With a little less motivation that her previous day, Jamie gathered her tools and wondered how to stick around without sticking around, or rather, how to say good night to the au pair. 

For the past few days, Jamie had been nearly floating on the memories of the pond swim that kept them up and talking until nearly sunrise. She dissected every moment of her time with Dani, hoping to figure something out, but never could come to any concrete answers. The au pair was far too elusive and perhaps unwilling to give enough to jump to any conclusions. But all the same, the gardener enjoyed spending time with her, and she couldn’t remember the last time she simply enjoyed existing. It was too hard to talk to most people; she tripped over her word and thoughts and ended up quietly listening and not listening. 

Now, she knew what Dani’s favorite smell was. 

But there was really no reason for anything else for her inside the house other than to say her goodnight and be on her way. Still, she mulled and smoked, circling her tools before looking back towards the front door. 

Like a streak, the newly familiar blonde appeared, zipping through the door, and around the corner, disappeared in an instant, too fast on her own feet for any good. But there was more power and speed to this movement than before, and Jamie rubbed out her cigarette before grabbing her tools and deciding on taking the long way back around. 

The shape of the au pair appeared on the other side of a planter, half hunkered, back expanding quickly as she tried to find a way to breathe. Jamie slowed her walk so as not to fully interrupt something like that. It felt like waking a sleep walker, and she’d always been inclined to believe in the magic of it. Dani’s shoulders shook slightly as she tried to straighten her spine. She curled up slightly before forcing herself back up again. As harrowing as it was, Jamie cleared her throat and jostled the bucket in her hand, making the au pair jump slightly at the intrusion. It was a clumsy way to wake someone, but she didn’t know of another. The gasping breaths seized immediately, but the face didn’t turn to look at her.

The gravel crunched beneath the bucket as she placed it and her tools on the ground, a peace offering, an armistice line. 

“So, uh,” the gardener squinted toward the sun and shoved her hands in her back pocket. “What did the little monsters do?” 

“No, it’s… um--” 

“I know it’s frowned upon, to wallop a child, but I’m not one to rely on my reputation. A bit more tarnish couldn’t hurt it.” 

Dani didn’t move, just kept looking straight away, unwilling to do anything but hold her breath. Defeated, Jamie kicked at the gravel slightly, swinging her leg and puffing out her cheeks as she searched for something in the deepest parts of her brain to earn a sound or look from the au pair. 

“Plants are much easier. I find it’s not as taboo to murder a gaggle of heliotropes for not behaving. My discipline is harsh, I bet. But if you need some child rearing advice, I’m around.”

As much as she hadn’t meant to, Dani laughed, a relieved, genuine chuckle at the absurdity of the gardener, and Jamie inhaled it too quickly. 

“There we are,” she smiled to herself, victorious as all. “It’s not so bad. You’re hardly the first. I’ve cried… goodness, daily. Hourly, even, since working here. Helps to keep the evergreens so effervescent. If you’ve ever marvelled at my lustrous plentitude, I promise it’s from my own deep, deep well of inconsolable tears.” 

The au pair finally turned, much of her body still hidden behind the planter, but her eyes, the red-rimmed and puffy eyes glittered in the haze of the summer. Jamie swallowed slightly at the site and offered a smaller smile. Dani smiled at her, somewhere between relieved and burdened, unable to decide which was worse. 

“You’re doing great,” Jamie offered quickly, her feet betraying her and taking a step forward, naturally drawn to fix the problem. “You’re doing great.” 

“Thank you,” Dani nodded before looking away to wipe her eyes. 

“Alright,” she took a deep breath before picking up her tools. “Chin up, Poppins.” 

The best she had, the girl effectively returned to something short of sad, Jamie decided it was time for the quickest escape imaginable, and though she controlled her steps, she refused to turn around. 

XXXXXXXXX

The garden on the eastern side of the house was a continual work in progress. The gardener spent a portion of nearly every part of her day working on the roses and bushes, tenderly turning the area into a perfect oasis of blooming buds. It was her favorite part of the entire manor and grounds, it was her oasis. The tall brick wall was flanked by even taller pines, casting heavy branches like a ceiling over the edges. 

To say that there was an absolute explosion when the garden was massacred, would have been an outright lie. It was apocalyptic. The nanny wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone who was simultaneously full of loss and wrath, but Jamie stood there, shaking, vibrating with a kind of rage that surpassed any kind of mortal feelings. At first, Dani was certain it was going to be quiet, that Jamie was swallowing it completely. But it wasn’t quiet. She marched across the garden, fist full of decapitated roses, petals in her wake, and began yelling. 

It took ten minutes before she tired herself out and Dani was able to calm her down. It took a few more hours for her to round up the culprits. 

“How are they doing?” Dani called as she helped direct the clean up efforts across the garden. 

“Looks alright to me,” Jamie nodded. “Don’t forget the mulch.” 

“Got it,” she smiled, helping Flora pick a few things. 

Even though she wanted to be mad, Jamie struggled with the fact that Dani looked very cute with a scuff of dirt across her forehead. She didn’t enjoy that her anger was so quickly quelled by a pretty girl. That didn’t seem fair. She should be able to hold onto all of that rage for a little while longer, in her own opinion, not lose it because a girl smiled at her. 

“She’s really putting them through their paces,” Hannah observed over the rim of her glass. “They should be playing.” 

“Have to learn about consequences,” Jamie shrugged. “A little hard labor is good for a growing kid.” 

“She’s tough on them. But maybe you’re right. They can be a little bit of a handful from time to time.” 

“You should know better than anyone. You clean up after them all day. Owen cooks for them. I make sure they don’t get lost in the woods. They need a little bit of structure.” 

“They’re working hard. I just want them to play,” Hannah sighed and swirled her drink around against the heat.

Jamie put her foot up on the edge of the chair and dug in her shirt pocket to pull out the pack of cigarettes. She let her eyes slowly drift back to the nanny who stood, hands on her hips as she looked down at the pile of debris the kids accumulated. She gave some orders, directing them around the yard. 

“What did I miss?” Owen asked as he took a seat between the two women. “How are the delinquents doing?” 

“They’re doing well,” Hannah smiled. 

“Hannah wants them to frolick and return to the glens, unfettered by their impetuous choices, free to roam the world causing chaos.”

Owen gave the housekeeper a look who just shrugged, not bothering to admit that it was almost the truth. 

“I don’t think that’s much of an option with the warden overseeing their parole.” 

Jamie chuckled and drifted back to the au pair. She didn’t catch Dani’s eyes, nor did she even earn a passing thought. But they were friends, she would venture. They were people who occasionally chatted in the evening, and they were people who had coffee every morning together in the green house, even if it tasted terrible. She drank it all anyway dutifully if it meant ten uninterrupted minutes with the au pair, though she’d never admit it. 

“What’s that?” she murmured, snuffing out the cigarette butt and looking over as Owen topped off her drink, missing half of their conversation already. 

“What do you think of the American?” 

“She’s wonderful with the kids. I think she’s doing a splendid job.” 

“Bit private isn’t she?” 

“You must have talked with her a bit more,” Hannah pressed. “I’ve seen you two skulking about, lingering in hallways, giggling.” 

“You make us sound like school girls, Hannah. Shame on you gossiping and such.” 

“Curious about the other person who lives in the same building is all. What do you think of her?” 

Jamie looked once more, this time meeting Dani’s quick glance and gulping slightly. They held the look for longer than expected, and Jamie remembered the feeling of cold water and Dani’s smile as she held her nose and jumped into the pond. She remembered the smell of their skin in the back of her truck as they dried off in stiff old blankets and stared at the stars, the grass and the water leaving the earth behind on their joints. 

“A touch too pretty to be a nanny, I reckon.”

“Owen?” 

“Oh, I um, I don’t know that I’ve thought of her, erhm, that way,” he cleared his throat and eagerly drank from his glass as Jamie turned it around to him. 

“You’ve seemed to have made your mind up about her,” Hannah decided, reading Jamie’s face and the little bit of pink in her cheeks. “And you never do that.” 

“Jury’s still out. I give her another month before she’s running for the hills from those little brats and this bloody place.” 

“I don’t know. I think she’s taken to it.” 

“Can’t count on someone like her to stick.” 

“Why’s that?” the housekeeper prodded, noticing another quick glance between the gardener and the au pair. 

“She’s too good,” Jamie explained, neither sad, neither conflicted, neither happy at the news, but merely presenting a fact. “Too alive to wallow away at Bly Manor.” 

“It’s not like that’s what we’re doing,” Owen scoffed. “We’re young and hot.” 

“Speak for yourself, darling.” 

Jamie didn’t argue, but looked down at the slow drip of condensation on her glass and felt the sinking deja vu feeling that haunted her from time to time. They were all running from something, hiding behind the walls of the manor, only they didn’t see it that way. Jamie wasn’t running anymore, but she’d been defeated and relegated to such, she thought. Dani wasn’t there yet. 

“She is full of life,” Hannah nodded, almost quietly. “It’s oddly contagious, if that’s the right word for it.” 

“Something like that,” Jamie agreed, wiping away the moisture on her cup on the edge of her pants before taking another sip. 

“Is your brother still coming next week? You should invite Dani with us to the show,” Owen decided for her. 

“No way she’d want to go to some backwoods hoot and holler that my mangy brother is doing,” Jamie scoffed this time, shaking her head at the notion. 

“I think it’s high time she saw some Bly culture up close and personal.” 

“She does need to get out, love. You know how tiring it is to live here non-stop,” Hannah agreed. “Invite her. Take the pretty girl dancing.” 

“I didn’t mean pretty like-- I was just observing--” the gardener stopped trying to find the word because it wasn’t coming and Hannah had given her the look that said it was hopeless. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to come.” 

“We’ll see about that.” 

“Dani! Dani!” Owen began to call out, waving his hand until Jamie made him stop, prepared to threaten him within an inch of his own life. 

“I’ll ask her tomorrow,” Jamie promised, hissing the words. “I’ve got to go,” she stood up abruptly. “And see about the… there was that squeaky hinge in the pantry.” 

Before Dani could make it over, the gardener was off, retreating and not looking back over her shoulder once at the scene. Hannah just smiled at Owen and wiggled her eyebrows. 

“I told you. That’s five quid.” 

“She never said she liked her,” he taunted back. 

“You must not be fluent in Jamie, but if you were, you’d know that ‘squeaky hinges’ was code for ‘help, the pretty blonde American is coming over and I don’t know how to be a human and speak with her because she’s so pretty’,” Hannah explained. 

“I’ll pay up if she invites her,” he retorted. “And not a moment sooner. I have my doubts about this flirting you allegedly have seen.” 

“You’re blind, love.” 

“Just blinded by you.” 

“Oh, shush,” the housekeeper fluttered away the comment with a wave of her hand though she smiled to herself. “Jamie is smitten, and you know I’m right.” 

“But is Dani?”

“The five quid question, isn’t it?” 

“Mmmm,” they both hummed together as they watched the gardener disappear completely into the house. 

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