#normally its 'I cough a lot and its very intense and I get a sharp headache as part of that' but this was all out of order

[thesnacken]

Uhhhhhhh

[vvideonasties]

clear-cut

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance. 

word count: 2k

pairing: jonmartin

warnings: discussion of canon related trauma, thoughts about body autonomy

While rifling through the kitchen drawers, Jon is unsurprised by the plethora of blades Daisy owns. There’s every kind of knife you could fathom and, thankfully, a few pairs of scissors. Grabbing what appears to be the sharpest pair (though they all look pretty damn sharp), he heads to the bathroom. He clutches the white of the porcelain sink and stares into the mirror impassively. 

He used to actually quite like his long hair. He’d play with it while he was working, twirling the thick locks around his fingers and untangling knots absentmindedly. When he’d get frustrated he’d pull it out of its tie and tug at it. It was a strange way to ground himself. 

Now, though. It’s been used too much for other people’s gain, has been in too many people’s hands for it to truly belong to him. The gravity it provided began to dissipate when Daisy attacked him - she’d grabbed a chunk of it and used it to yank back his head to expose the vulnerable expanse of his neck. As he’d stood there under the mercy of her blade, shaking and pleading, the stinging in his scalp lingered the entire time. It only got worse from there - the awful attempt at tenderness displayed by the Stranger as Nikola brushed aside a few strands to gain access to more flesh, to paste moisturiser onto it with her stiff fingers. The dirt he couldn’t quite scrub out of it after he left the Buried, even when he sat in the tub for hours on end. Even when the water began to run clear, he could still feel the clumps weighing him down, making his head loll to the side with it.

After all that, it wasn’t much to him. He’d wash it, dry it, tie it up. Try not to think of it. 

Jon stares down at the gleaming scissors in the sink determinedly. Cutting it off won’t solve much, if anything at all, but it would make him feel a little more comfortable. It’s one of the only things he can control about himself at the moment. If he doesn’t like the way it looks, then fine. It’ll grow back. 

His hand flexes and clenches into a fist. Tighten, relax, tighten, relax. 

He reaches for the scissors and holds a piece of hair in front of his face, the blades open, hungry, ready to receive. 

Then there comes a short, polite cough. He turns to see Martin standing just outside the bathroom, eyes a little wider than normal. 

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance. 

“I’m cutting my hair,” he clarifies, and Martin seems to relax at that. 

“Okay.” A pause. “Why?”

He puts down the scissors and shrugs, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

“Just felt like it,” he says, which is kind of true. “Not particularly attached to it anymore.”

Martin hums, taking him at his word. He walks over on socked feet, close enough that Jon can feel the heat radiating from him. There’s a brief moment where his hands pass over the scissors.

“I could help?”

Jon turns to face him completely, brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, it’s just that I have experience? Kind of? I cut my own, and I used to cut my mum’s as well...” Martin’s mouth twists downwards at that, and Jon just frowns harder. “I won’t give you my mum’s style, I promise!” He jokes weakly. It falls flat, and the whole atmosphere feels stilted. 

“Okay. Why not.”

“...Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your whole-”

“It’s fine. I could use some help reaching the back anyway.” As much as he just wants to lop all of it off, he doesn’t want it to look messy. 

Martin seems to brighten, probably at the relief of having something to focus on, and he walks off to grab a chair from the small dining table as Jon hovers awkwardly. He positions it in the living room, close to the small TV they’ve been using sporadically. They’ve been steadily working their way through the small cabinet full of DVDs underneath it. However, Jon isn’t exactly sure how long they’re going to be staying, so they might have to...ration them. The week they’ve been here hasn’t exactly been the most vibrant when it comes to entertainment. Maybe one day they’ll relent and open up the dusty box of Monopoly. That could very well be a major test of their relationship, though. 

At least, Jon thinks this is a relationship. They haven’t talked about it all that much. All that mattered in the beginning was escaping the Lonely, leaving London, then getting settled here. They’re fumbling around blindly in the dark, and all Jon knows is he wants to hold onto Martin as tightly as possible. 

That little train of thought is interrupted by the small clink of Martin taking the scissors off of the sink and grabbing a towel from the rack. He gestures to the chair, inviting Jon to sit, and when he does so he feels the towel being gently wrapped around his shoulders. 

There’s the brief sensation of Jon’s hair being pulled at, only slightly, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Okay?” Martin whispers. He understands without knowing, somehow, and Jon is glad that he can’t see the way his face is taut with apprehension, tinged with pain. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, trying to emulate Martin’s tone. 

“Can I use your tie?” His voice is still soft, and Jon should feel patronised, but he mostly feels soothed. “Just so it’s easier to cut through.”

Jon wordlessly removes the tie from his wrist and hands it over. He tries to hide the little shiver that passes over him when their fingers brush. Martin begins to hum a tune as he gathers the hair up into one handful (not like they did, he would never, it’s Martin, always so good to him), then creates a loose ponytail that falls to his shoulders. 

“Fine so far?” Jon nods tentatively. “Alright then.” 

There’s the distinct sound of the blades opening, and in one fluid motion Jon feels the weight he’d been carrying leave him. 

“There.” Martin comes into view, holding the thick, dark ponytail aloft, smiling crookedly. 

“Oh,” he croaks. “That’s...a lot.” His hand comes up to brush his the side of his head, then travels down and grasps at thin air where hair was a second ago. The cut seems to stop at his jaw, the small strands remaining ghosting over his skin. 

“It is. Can I keep going?”

Jon, hand still close to his head, makes a noise of assent. Martin takes a second to throw away what’s been cut then returns. He sinks his hands into Jon's scalp, massaging the tension out of it, and Jon makes an unbidden noise of satisfaction that causes his motions to still.

"God, sorry, did I hurt-"

"No! No, it's okay. It felt nice." It felt really nice. 

Martin clicks his tongue and continues for a while longer, fingers digging into Jon’s scalp over and over in a wonderful, rhythmic motion until Jon is practically boneless and falling asleep in the chair. He wonders if there’s a not-weird way to ask for this again outside of a hair cutting context. 

“So how short are we going here? You kind of have a bob right now,” Martin laughs. 

Jon hadn’t really thought about that. He just wanted it off, away, binned and out of his face. He shrugs. “I don’t know, short? Whatever you think will suit me.”

“Any hairstyle would suit you,” Martin points out, like it’s nothing. Jon smiles. “But I’ll do my best.” 

A few moments of Martin muttering to himself and circling around the chair is followed by the coolness of the dual blades against the curve of Jon’s ear, the shhk of them pressing together giving him goosebumps. He clearly has done this many times before, given the confident way he navigates the scissors. Jon certainly couldn’t have done this alone, at least not without making a fool out of himself. Martin brushes some hair away from the nape of his neck. His hands are very warm. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with short hair.”

Jon turns to him, puzzled. “Really?”

The thing with Jon is, when he cares about someone a lot, he tends to insert them in all of his memories, assuming that they’ve always been around (he also has the memory of a goldfish, but he’s sure that’s a whole other thing). Martin has become such an integral part of his life, standing neatly by his side like it’s nothing. Like he was meant to be there and always has. 

“It has been quite a few years now, I suppose. Last I remember it was this short I was still in research.” When he goes to touch his head again he notes that he can feel for his ears without having to move a mountain of hair aside.

“Better late than never, I guess! I’m gonna move to the front now.”

Martin has to position himself at an awkward angle to use the scissors properly, his back practically curved into a C shape. His gaze is focused and intense, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Hair falls on Jon’s face as he snips, making him wrinkle his nose and grimace.

“Sorry. You can wash it off soon.”

Jon nods minutely. Then he sneezes. Martin just smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, then continues. 

He remembers why he rarely went to get a professional haircut now. That strange intimacy that comes with someone being so close to you - a stranger - it always disturbed him. The idle chatter that made him grit his teeth, how they’d act like they knew him. Then he didn’t have the time or energy to cut it himself after...everything. 

Now he’s looking at Martin, though. It’s odd, yes. Intimate? Definitely. He doesn’t know whether to close his eyes or keep them open. But he’s always found it very hard to turn his gaze away from Martin regardless.

His eyes are a lovely shade of deep blue, and he has far too many scars alongside the smattering of freckles on his face. He looks tired. Very much so. There’s crows feet at the corners of his eyes and lines on his forehead. He notes absently that he actually has a thick beard, too. Of course he noticed it beforehand - he’s felt it scratching the back of his neck when he wakes in the morning with Martin’s arms around him - but it’s worth pointing out. It makes him look much older, especially since the grey in it seems to be overtaking the red. 

Martin stands up straight and runs his hands through Jon’s hair a few times before standing back, head tilted to the side. 

“I think we’re done. It’s not amazing, but.”

Jon is already shrugging off the towel and heading to the bathroom mirror, feeling weirdly nervous. 

He certainly looks different. Unfortunately, though he searched high and low for them, Daisy doesn’t own any clippers. Martin did the best he could with what he had - he’s kept it a bit longer towards the front, some strands grazing his forehead, but the rest is cropped closely to his scalp. Jon tentatively touches it and leans forward. He tries to grasp a chunk of it, see if it’s long enough to pull. He fails. 

“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Jon says firmly. “It’s just what I needed.” He walks back over to Martin and wraps his arms around him instinctively, sighing with contentment when he responds in kind. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Martin’s t-shirt. 

“Of course.” Martin is stroking the back of his neck gently. “You look very handsome.”

Jon’s face burns at the compliment, and he chooses to hide it further rather than reply. They stand there for a while, hair scattered around the floor like autumn leaves, and it feels like a new beginning. 

[angelicmichael]

Hoax - Prologue

Michael Langdon x Mallory

Summary: After failing to kill murder house Michael; Mallory must travel back in time to Sojourn era to try again. However; she finds to her horrific discovery that jumping through time repeatedly does not come without its consequences.

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: Death, They both almost die (or do die) so.. a lot of describing wounds and nearly dying and that jazz ✌🏻, major wounds, lowkey a dark fic, Mallory discusses wanting to kill Michael and finds celebrates it??, angst, Mallory goes and sees his dead body, blood

A/N: this takes place right after Mallory drives away from Michael in the finale btw!! I literally didnt intend on making it this dark but it just happened LOL. I feel like most of the dark stuff is vague so.. it should still be chill. This is the first time ive written millory/character x character so please go easy on me!! I also tried to follow canon and stay accurate to details the best I could but knowing me I probably fucked up somehow LMAO but enjoy 💖💖 major plot twist is coming in the next chapter btw! Also Mallorys thots are italicized.

As soon as Mallory drove away; she knew nearly immeadietly that it was too good to be true. Things could never be this fucking easy.

She felt a pit in her stomach almost instantaneously once she was in the year 2015; Even though she couldnt decipher if the anxiety was a warning or something else.. She continued on with the dark destiny she was put on this earth to fulfull.. to kill the antichrist.

Even though she was fully aware of this; and had come to terms with what she had to do - she learned the hard way that it didnt seem to make things easier at all; like how she dreamed it would. Although, even now as she continued to speed away from the infamous 'murder house', the drop in her stomach seemed to only grow; along with her self doubt.

Was he really dead??

Did I really do it??

She knew that the answer to both of those questions should be yes; but the longer she remained driving in her car, getting farther and farther away from where the incident had occured.. she knew something was wrong.

Mallory suddenly jolted the steering wheel into a sharp left; continuing to turn it until she was doing U-Turn.. She couldnt help but to feel completly bewildered at her own actions - never doing something so impulsive, like going back to a crime scene let alone commit murder, in her life.

Although Mallory felt a bit disgusted with her recent previous actions; she couldnt help but imagine how disgusted she would feel with herself if she didnt pull this off. She mulled over the previous thoughts she had had about this moment and how dreamed it would feel; she thought she would feel joy, elated, and at peace but.. instead she still felt as if she was being suffocated by his presence.

He wasnt gone. Not yet.

She pressed her foot down on the gas, she knew she hadn't gone too far away from Michael's residence yet it seemed as if it was a millenia away. The task she was supposed to complete was starting to seem more and more increasingly impossible the less distance was put between them.

If running him over with a car three times wasnt enough to kill him, whose to say anything else would? What if Constance had brought him inside?? What if she was still out there with him?? Mourning?

Mallory wasnt a monster; she wasnt going to tear away a dying boy from his grandmother in his (hopefully) final moments, even if he was the antichrist.

She felt as if she was a total loss for what to do; which made her grow sick to her stomach because she knew that was a cruel form of denial. She was destined for this moment; every moment thus far had led up to this.. so why did she feel like such a failure? Her thoughts grew more foggy and distant with panic; her throat became entirely dry as she slowed the car down. The murder house now in view; the first thing she noticed.

The red bricks and stained glass windows shined brightly in the sun. The house, which Mallory was sure typically looked beautiful, radiated a terrifying aura.. even more so this time versus when she was here only a mere minutes ago. The expanse and exterior of the house was intimidating; it held a certain danger to it that she couldnt pinpoint her finger on where the source came from.. it certainly was not Michael. Mallory knew that even if he wasnt dead; his powers would fade out for atleast a few minutes from being so wounded.

Mallory stopped the car once she saw Michael's dead body; which still resided in the middle of the road. Her feelings of panic and nausea only amplified once she saw his body -  her gaze lingering upon it. She approached him with no hesitation; she could nearly feel that he was gone.. his spirit momentarily missing.. somewhere else.

She studied him carefully and nearly pitifully as she crouched down to kneel next to his body. His body was littered and splattered with bright red wounds. His pants looked as if they were dip dyed in red paint; His once pale skin along with the majority of his clothes was covered in a bright red splatter. Long, dark red lacerations decorated his face. His mouth was still agape; his once white teeth were coated in the same shade of red his clothes were.

Even though he looked absolutely horrible; Mallory still felt absolutely no remorse for the antichrist. Knowing what he would become, and his sick ways of manipulation deserved no mercy. However, knowing only seconds ago he was nothing but a mere bloody, suffering child.. she couldnt help but to not fight the tears she felt budding at her eyes; letting one slide down her cheek before quickly wiping it away - she knew it was naive to assume she wasnt being watched.

Mallory wasnt stupid - she knew her powers and what she was capable of, like the back of her hand by now. The past few months practically consisted of her testing and expanding on her limits... She knew that healing Michael in this exact moment wasnt out of the question. In fact, it almost seemed to be more difficult to restrain herself from healing him.. but she knew better.

He deserves to fucking suffer. He deserved to rot in his personal hell; wherever that may be.

She couldnt help but to nearly laugh at the thought that he finally got what was fucking coming to him.

Mallory could feel herself shaking with how close she was to Michael now. She couldnt stand how he made her feel when they were this close - almost touching.

She now was kneeling next to his body on the concrete, her knees aching from the rough surface but she couldnt go just yet. Not when she still had no fucking clue where to go from here.

The world seemed as if it came to stand still; nothing seemed like it existed outside of the small bubble that Mallory felt her and Michael were suddenly trapped in.. The birds stopped singing, no cars happened to drive by.. everything just stopped.

All the spirits and souls that Mallory could feel that were trapped within the grounds of the house, didnt bother to make a appearance either. But she knew they were still there... she could still feel their eyes on her. Watching; waiting.

The sun's warmth, which normally Mallory chose to bask in, was starting to make her itch. She could feel her skin start to moisten with sweat.. Instinctively she knew that her sudden newfound state of being uncomfortable was her cue to leave... To go where though? She wasnt sure.

Why am I still here? If everything had happened correctly; if I really killed him.. then why havent I woken up yet??

Mallory continued to stare at him grimly; not quite brave enough to speak but still managing to maintain the courage to sit by him and look at the damage she caused. The most jarring feature of Michael's current appearance would be his eyes. Mallory couldnt help but to stare at them; and it certainly wasnt because they were beautiful.

His once vibrant, sky blue, irises were now starting to look oddly dull. A faint, milky white color looked as if it were painted over them instead.

His skin was now a bruised white; Mallory shakily extended out her hand - pressing the back of her knuckles softly to his forearm. She wanted to see how cold his body was; and when she made contact - she pulled her hand back so fast as if it had been burned. She hissed, the coolness of his skin stunned her. She stared at his body intensely - shocked that she even dared to touch him, let alone even stick around for this long. 

The sounds Michael started to make is what finally drove Mallory to wake up out her near trance she found herself amidst in and to realize the reality of the situation. After minutes of silence and stillness, and sure death, Michael's chest finally started to move. The amount at which his chest moved was nearly minuscule at first; but he was recovering rather quickly.. too fucking quickly for Mallorys liking.

It was almost sickly ironic how Mallorys chest started to move faster and faster as soon as Michael's did; she couldn't help but to feel entirely panicked. The rest of her emotions; her thoughts; her feelings; everything that used to make up her was now fleeting.. rapidly leaving until as she could focus on was the oxygen briskly escaping her.

She watched the color from his skin start to return; the off putting stark whiteness leaving and a very subtle pink gracing his skin tone. More noticeably; she observed how the color in his lips and eyes returned back.. almost appearing normal.

She unconsciously found herself rising; panic still occupying all of her senses. She quickly unfolded her legs and steadied herself as she stood up.. One thought and one thought only rang through her mind like a sick mantra..

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Mallory tried to gasp as she suddenly felt her throat grow incredibly dry; she let out a desperate dry cough. Her eyes started to tear up unwillingly as she felt a enormous amount of self doubt suddenly surge into the core of her being - the feeling slipping momentarily into her soul.

The world around her began to spin and melt away simultaneously; until she felt her physical body melt away from Michael and the Murder House incredibly rapidly before she could even fully process what was happening.

She felt the harsh coldness of the bath tub water for a split second before she emerged; the black water engulfing her as she stayed partially concealed within the water. Immeadietly she found herself gasping and gagging on her tongue from not being able to breath possibly fast enough... The next thing she felt was otherworldly pain. She felt so much fucking pain.

Mallory gripped the edge of the bathtub until her fingertips turned white and her nails threatened to split. She stayed like that for a moment; spitting and gasping, trying to find a way to consume as much oxygen as possible while managing the nearly unimaginable pain. Her entire body throbbed but her eyes felt a different pain; a sickly stinging.

Keeping her posture and preventing herself from slipping entirely back into the black water was a fucking mission in itself, she quickly learned. She didnt even bother to pretend to be quiet.. Her breaths and groans were far too loud to even begin to ignore.

Is Michael still alive?  Where is Myrtle?

Mallorys lungs seemed to return to normal capacity after a while, her gasping decreased until she was utterly and completely quiet. She arose from the water as quietly as she possibly could, biting her lip to prevent making any additional noise from the sudden cold air she felt against her body.. stinging and torturous..

Her eyes still ached, bringing her hands instinctively to her eyes to stop the pain - she realized ones of her hands was still balled into a fist.. holding onto something.

Was that.. is that MICHAELS hair??

Mallory stared at the once curly, perfectly golden strands of hair that lie in her balled up fist in complete horror - it was now a dark red from the blood that had washed off her skin and into the water.

There was no way this was HIS hair. It had to be someone elses; anyone elses! She refused to believe that she was holding onto anything that belonged or had to do with Michael... complete disgust and delirium rendered her from thinking that.

Her first instinct was to drop the hair; but something told her to keep holding onto the lock, it would only serve her well in the future.

Her vision was inky with blood; dark red clouding her vision and making her feel even more impaired and utterly hopeless then she already felt.. even with the large wound still gaping and bleeding from her stomach. Her stomach wound made her entire body ache, trying to stay conscious was a fight within itself.

It happened again. I failed.

She wasnt sure if she was just being cynical or if her thoughts were even to be trusted anymore when she was in this state.. she only knew she wanted this horrible nightmare to be fucking over with already. She wanted to wake up in Robichauxs and see her sisters; Misty, Madison, Queenie, Zoe and more than anyone.. Cordelia... Oh fuck.

Cordelia... She was still dead.. because of me.

Mallory blinked slowly a few times; taking her free hand and wiping as much blood away from her face and eyes as she could - just enough so she could fully take in her surroundings.

If she could feel her stomach; she was sure she would feel it drop because as much as she looked, she saw no one. Absolutely no one. Tears slipped down her cheeks but they werent bloody anymore. She knew she was completely fucked; he had her cornered.

Well not literally anyways. He still managed to lurk somewhere within the vast empty walls of Outpost Three; most likely looking for her.. but he had to know she was fatally wounded.. right? 

That's when out of the thick silenceness, she heard the first sign of life. Loud; but distant heavy footsteps.

Michael.

She knew she was fucked right away. She could almost feel his spirit itself within Hawthorne; the feeling slowly flowing to her until it forced her to be frozen. Petrified, still sopping wet and with some left over blood dripping off her chin - she knew what she had to do.. and she only had seconds to do it. Mallory knew he was approaching closer and closer the longer she stood docile in the bathtub.. like a idiot.

She took deep, heavy breaths. Fully; for the first time, cherishing the feeling of oxygen in her lungs - knowing that she very well might not make it out alive. Preforming time travel once alone was a enormous feat; but she had already done it twice.. but three times?

The thought simultaneously scared and excited her; she continued take deep breaths before relaxing. Closing her eyes and focusing; searching for a moment in Michael's history to go back too.

There had to be another time Michael was weak besides when he was with Constance at the murder house.. Another time that he felt abandoned.. lost.. confused..

She swallowed as she felt and focused on the soft strands of hair that she held onto; trying to search desperately for the answer that she needed as she took the next step and plunged herself under the water, first barely managing to weakly whisper, "tempus infinituum".

The water tore at her skin as she felt herself letting go from the past reality... slowly yet rapidly her senses seemed to all melt away at once before she was floating- until nothing.

Suddenly Mallory opened her eyes, blinking as she kept calm as she adjusted to her new surroundings.. an open, nearly empty forest was what welcomed her as she slowly spun around.

The smell of pine leaves and the heavy scent of the forest consumed her senses. She first felt calm and at peace; the forest was beautiful. She almost felt tempted to forget about what she came here to do and to lose herself within the sea of greenery but.. something was terribly wrong.

More so; someone was here.

Mallory first stood still; puzzled as to why she was now standing in a vacant forest with pine needles at her feet.

She didnt dare say a word out loud, just in case, but she knew she was waiting for something before she dared to take a step.. she was waiting for a sign. She didnt bat a eye when she felt a soft, warm breeze tousle her hair forward. She felt it continue to crash against her body - almost like soft waves crashing upon rocks. She felt it on her warm skin; her skin getting goosebumps as she knew what this meant. She was getting her sign.

This is it. Is he here?

Mallory giggled at the mere thought; the anticipation and glee of imagining how this nightmare perhaps could be over in the near future was making her experience true euphoria.

She began to walk through the forest; passing several trees as she searched for what she was yearning for. The breeze was far gone by now but she knew to keep going; to keep looking. She looked at the forest landscape that lie ahead of her; a sea of moss and blended greens and blues. The forest didnt have the same magic it typically held though; something was missing.

It was because she was getting closer to him.

Mallory had to suppress a scream as she suddenly felt herself step on something that wasnt the forest floor. She felt a painful shiver run directly down her spine, almost as if someone was running a blade down her back. She was becoming consumed with panic once more; and with the sudden realization what was happening.. What this meant.

It was pure reflex which caused her to take a step back; even before she had the opportunity to look down and confirm her suspicions, she knew exactly what she had stepped on. A body.

She quickly looked down at what she had stepped on - not able to take the anonymity of the individual any longer.. and of course..

I fucking knew it.

She recognized who it was immeadietly, curly blonde hair that was mangled with dirt and a typical black outfit.. it was too easy to guess the identity of the body. He was face down, his body sprawled out unnaturally and in a uncomfortable manner..

It was once again; Michael Langdon.

Taglist: @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @beyond-repentance @lizzy-claire-fandom

[dirtychocolatechai]

you taste like the 4th of july | s.r

🍵pairing | steve rogers x f!reader

🍵wc | 3k

🍵warning(s) | 18+, smut; sex pollen, female masturbation/toys, fingerfucking, multiple orgasms, dirty talk

🍵request | pls do 20, 24 and 29 with Steve (sex pollen/heat, toys, multiple orgasms)

🍵requests: open | tag lists: open | masterlist

“DON’T–!”

The warning comes too late.

Bursting on impact, the shattered glass of the beaker scatters across the tile. Thick plumes of smoke rise from the wreckage with a low hiss. A sharp, spicy scent impregnates the air - settles heavy in your nose. Eyes burning, you stumble towards the nearest wall, upending several pieces of expensive lab equipment. It’s impossible to navigate and keep your mouth covered.

Whatever this chemical is, you’ve already inhaled several lungfuls. Oddly enough, you taste it on your lips. It’s smooth and full of heat, like spiced chocolate.

It can’t be that dangerous.

On the opposite side of the room, Captain Rogers isn’t fairing any better. A stifled cough chases the air from his lungs. All he manages is a strained, “You okay, [Y/N]?”

“Yeah, I think –”

A coughing fit interrupts your sentence, so intense your ribs ache and your stomach hurts when the attack lulls into a harsh wheeze. The air is strangely heavy. Your mind grows fuzzy around the edges, full of cotton and a foreign warmth begins to gather in the pit of your stomach.

“I…I think I’m okay, just a bit dizzy. Did it get hotter in here?”

Spectator to the destruction of his lab and the drugging of his friends, Bruce scrubs a hand over his face. “Oh, this is so not good.”

You learn that the Tower’s walls are surprisingly thin the hard way. You’re back in your apartment after the debacle at the lab, stripped bare and slowly dying on your couch as your temperature continues to rise. It’s all normal and to be expected ™ according to Bruce. Of course, the chemical released had to be some fucking alien aphrodisiac  thing. The strongest of its kind, or so you’re told. What that means is for the next few hours, you’re going to be hornier than you’ve ever been in your entire life.

Under no circumstances are you supposed to scratch the itch, as it is. It seems a good old-fashioned exchange of bodily fluids is the only cure. Seeing as you’re woefully single and pining after a very uninterested Captain of the Avengers, you’re just gonna wait it out which is easier said than done.

But it’s fine, everything’s fine. 

You got this, easy peasy. 

At least, you do until you unconsciously start to grind down on the couch cushion. When the edge catches your clit, you crumble.

Gasping and trembling, a shock wave of pleasure zips up and down your spine. Everything feels heightened. You’re aware of your body in a way you never were. You feel every inch of the rough fabric against your cunt, every dip and ridge bringing forth a new sensation. It’s not your proudest moment but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. You ride the cushion until it’s a mess, large wet patches clearly visible. When that doesn’t work, you change positions, sitting right on the edge and rocking back and forth. It feels incredible but brings little relief and a whole lot of desperation. The hotter you get, the more and more worked up you get until you’re grabbing fistfuls of the cushion, thrusting so fast you’re going to be chaffed by morning.

Nothing’s working.

You should have heeded Bruce’s warning but now that you’ve started you can’t stop.

There’s a fire in the pit of your stomach. It’s only burning brighter and stronger with every frantic flick of your clit. It’ll swallow you whole, and fuck, but you just might let it.

Everything’s a blur but you somehow make it to your bedroom, fever hot and dripping slick everywhere. Your thighs are drenched, and your body’s shaking. You’ve never been this wet, the cool gusts of air as you shift teasing your slit.

You’re needy and half dazed with arousal. It’s a miracle you manage to open the bedside drawer and grab your dildo. It’s your favourite, thick all around with a fat head and a nice curve to the shaft. It never fails to make you come hard and fast. No prep work’s needed, cunt so ready to be filled you have a hard time getting the head in because it keeps slipping. Kneeling, you balance the toy between you and the mattress. Keeping a firm hold on the base, you work the tip in until you can sit down without it falling over.

Immediately every nerve ending is on fire. Teeth sink into your bottom lip as you choke down a scream. Your walls flutter around the fake cock, thighs shaking, eyes rolling shut.

“Holy,” you gasp, body jerking involuntarily, “ffuck that feels amazing.” It’s been a long time since simple penetration really got you going. Maybe you’ve just been having shitty sex, maybe it’s the alien aphrodisiac. You couldn’t care less, all you know is that you’re so horny it hurts.

Starting off, you use your legs to bounce up and down softly. The bed rocks with your movements and while it hits all the right spots, it’s unsatisfying, empty, like something is missing. Growing bored, you spread your thighs wider. Reaching down, you grab ahold of the dildo, pumping it in and out of your pussy. Pleasure oozes down your spine, gathering in your belly. Your free hand kneads your breast, fingernails scraping along your puckered nipple.

A loud moan escapes you.

Now this is more like it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant, tilting your hips so you don’t lose that perfect angle.  “Right there! F-Fuck, please, come on, make me cum.”

The bulbous head of the dildo slams into your g-spot with every hurried thrust. Your wrist aches but you’ll be damned if you stop. You’re right at the edge, soaked and swollen and so ready to fucking cum, you’ll do anything. 

Whining high in the back of your throat, you shove the sex toy in to the hilt. You feel the slide of every inch spreading you wide, stuffing your needy cunt full of fake cock and...

It’s. Not. Enough.

The dildo rests inside you cold and lifeless, the space above you empty, the only taste on your lips your own. The reality that you can’t bring yourself to that glorious peak, that you don’t have anyone to help get you there, breaks you.

Silicone smacks against the wall, the useless toy bouncing off to land several feet away on the floor. It’s covered in your slick, glittering mockingly under the dimmed lights.

A sob tears open the dam.

The next thing you know, you’re crying and it’s not pretty, huge painful heaves that leave you short of breath. An undercurrent of suffocating loneliness cuts through you, its presence made even more apparent with every throb of your neglected clit.

You’re having a breakdown and your body can’t take a hint, still as horny (if not more so) than when you got back from the lab. It’s confusing and disorienting being pulled in so many directions, emotions an utterly tangled mess. You can’t tell if you want to be dicked down hard or kissed and cuddled.

What’s even more painful is that you don’t have anyone to do either with.

A knock interrupts the wallowing, and you get out of bed with a sniffle, tugging on a robe half-heartedly. The terrycloth scrapes against your skin uncomfortably, itchy in tender places and far too warm. When you answer the door, you’re not expecting to see him, especially with that expression on his face. Standing before you and filling up the doorway with his broad frame is Captain Rogers. His eyes are dark and fathomless, like a storm at sea. The plush curve of his mouth is red and raw like he’s been chewing on his lips.

You’ve got an idea of what you must look like, and it’s confirmed by the clench of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils. Clearing your throat, your eyes drop to your feet and your hand holds the robe closed around your neck. “Captain Rogers, I wasn’t expecting to see you so…soon.”

He doesn’t respond, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Well, um…you see, now’s not really…a good time. For me.” You’re already making your retreat, shuffling back behind the door. “When I’m feeling better, I can stop by…?”

Something in him snaps in the face of your withdrawal. One moment you’re staring at the floor, about to close the door and the next, you’re shoved face first against it. The lock clicks shut from somewhere around your hip. You don’t stop the hands that grab at your robe, yanking it from your body with so much force you jerk. The sound of tearing fabric fills the loaded silence.

“Tell me to go.” His breath is warm against the nape of your neck, his hips curving against your ass as the trunks of his arms wind around your waist. “Y/N, tell me to go and I will.” You sigh, unable to stop yourself from melting back into his embrace. The hard line of his cock twitches promisingly, digging into the supple plush of your ass. You arch your back, attempting to get him in between your thighs.

Your pussy clenches at the thought of being held down and fucked open. The wanton roll of your hips has a positively low growl of appreciation rumbling from his chest, and his arms tighten around your torso. “D-Damnit.” The Steve Rogers cursing, even so mildly, startles and turns you on in equal measure. Usually so prim and proper, now look at him. A man brought to his knees by how much he wants to fuck you. “Y/N, please, tell me to go.” His voice is whiskey rough, those sinful lips of his trailing along the length of your neck, filth from a holy tongue whispered into your skin, “Because if I stay, I’m not stopping until you’re dripping cum.” “Please...don’t go.” You don’t care how brazen it is, you snatch up one of his hands from around your hip and push it between your thighs. “I need you.”

Strong fingers nudge your core, testing your wetness. A choked off groan escapes the man behind you, the calloused pads dragging along the hood of your clit. “Shit, call me Steve.” Full lips follow the curve of your shoulder, digits inching closer and closer to your weeping entrance. “I could hear you next door, you know. God, I wish I could have seen how good you looked playing with yourself.”

“Captain - Steve, oh god, please.” “Were you thinking about me, hoping if you were loud enough I’d come over and take care of you?” A fingertip dips into your hole, thrusting shallowly. “Mm, I was thinking about you...” Your walls clench in response, trying to pull him in deeper and he chuckles, “Feeling greedy, baby?”

A kiss ghosts over your cheekbone.

Panting, you turn your head to gaze into Steve’s eyes. Your desire is reflected back at you, and his expression is just as greedy, hand tightening around your waist. “Yeah, me too,” Steve answers for you, already working on getting himself naked and the both of you into the bedroom.

You’re on your hands and knees faster than you can process, Steve kneeling behind you. He spreads you open with a thumb, seeing how swollen and ready you are.

“Well, aren’t you pretty. What do you want me to do?” he asks, using a forefinger to lightly tease your clit. “Come on, sweetheart. Use your words - tell me what you want.”

His dark, hungry gaze sears through you. A glimpse of him swiping his tongue across his bottom lip is enough to have you whimpering as another rush of slick drips down your slit. “Captain-”

“Steve.”

“Cap–Steve, please…”

He looks positively wicked. “Please what, pretty baby?” he croons, tracing your folds. It’s positively maddening.

He’s so close and yet so far.

Groaning, you chase his touch but he’s always one step ahead, cruelly retreating if you manage to get him anywhere close to where you truly want him. “S-Shit, Steve...Baby, please, wanna cum - need to cum.”

“You want my fingers? Is that all?”

“Fingers, cock, I don’t care.” You’ll do whatever it takes to get this stupidly gorgeous man inside you as soon as possible. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch his attention, expression pleading. “I want it all - I’ll take whatever you’ll give just please, please, please let me cum.”

He descends with the ferocity of a beast, inflamed with passion. He kisses a path down your spine, biting a bruise or two and licking away the sting. He works his fingers into you one by one until you’re stuffed full with three. He drags the tips along your walls in a crooking motion, taking you apart piece by piece until you’re sweaty and screaming.

“Come on, ride my fingers.”

Steve pants, watching the stretch and grip of your cunt around three of his fingers, your walls soft and silky. The messy, wet sounds of every thrust fill his ears. Slick drips down his knuckles, soaking his hand and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He’s so hard he could cut glass.

“That’s it, gorgeous girl. Take it, take your pleasure. Wanna - hah - wanna feel you cum.”

Trembling, you collapse into the bed, ass raised high as you hump back onto Steve’s fingers. His scent, the heat of his body, the timbre of his voice, the crook of his fingers; it’s your undoing. “Got you, baby,” Steve reassures, “I gotcha. It’s okay, just let go. Cum for me, sweetheart.” Every muscle in your body tenses, pulled taut as your walls flutter around him. At the height of your orgasm, Steve presses up, massaging your g-spot and bringing you even higher.

Completely falling to the bed, your mouth drops open in a near silent moan, voice cracking as the endorphins flood your body. Tiny trembles rock your frame. It’s the greatest rush, heartbeat pounding in your head.

The fever recedes to the edges of your awareness, present and yet removed like an out of body experience. You return just in time to hear Steve murmur, “So fucking beautiful when you cum. I can’t wait to taste you, baby.”

Somewhere, something hidden deep inside squirms in happiness at the thought that he plans on doing this with you again. “[Y/N]?” Picking your head up takes a tremendous amount of effort but when you see what’s going on behind you, you wake up pretty damn quick. Steve’s leaning back on his haunches, brows low over his eyes, mouth dropped open as he strokes his cock with the hand covered in your cum.

The sight takes your breath away - he looks absolutely delicious. Mouth dry, the banked fire in your belly roaring to life once more, you arch your hips and spread your thighs so your glistening cunt is on full view. It’s an invitation if there ever was one. “Can I - please, I just - is this okay? You look sore.”

Ever the sweetheart.

For all his rough, tough talk, Steve cares too much about other people to truly take advantage. It’s one of his most endearing qualities, or would be if it wasn’t stopping him from fucking you into next week with that beautiful cock of his. “Steve, I’m okay. Please,” you sigh, wiggling your hips enticingly, his eyes tracking every movement, “wanna feel you inside me.” Large palms glide over your hips, kneading the flesh of your ass and holding you open. Firm thighs mould to yours as a strong chest hovers over your back. He sighs, his breath fanning over your shoulder. “Guide me.” Gladly. You reach under your bodies and grab his cock, the shaft hot and throbbing in your hand. It’s slightly awkward but every slide of the head along your slit feels like the most exquisite torture until it catches on your entrance and then he’s sliding home. You both gasp, pushing closer together to get him as deep as possible. Fingers dig into your hips, little spots of sweet pain in an ocean of pleasure. Steve fills every inch of you, pulling back only to thrust forward and do it all again.

“O-Oh fuck, Steve,” you whine, scrambling to grab on to something. He’s right there, so thick all the right spots get pressed on the thrust in. “Just like that! Oh god, please - hah, don’t - don’t stop.” He growls, rutting back and forth as he sucks love bites into your skin wherever he can reach. “Goddamn it, you feel so good on my cock, baby.” “Aah! I’m gonna…” “Yeah, that’s it, cum again - cum all over my cock.” Hips snapping forward roughly, Steve sends you halfway up the bed before his arms yank you back. The head slams so hard into your g-spot that you can’t help but cum, gushing wetly around him. He curses, the feeling of your silky walls clenching down on him brings him embarrassingly close to the edge. He’s only able to get in half a dozen more sloppy thrusts before he follows.

The last thrust sheaths him to the hilt, his hips twitching against your ass. His cock empties inside you, filling you with his cum. Moaning softly at the sudden bloom of wet warmth, you swivel your hips and milk the last of his orgasm for all it’s worth.

Steve smothers his low, wounded groan in the side of your neck, teeth sneaking out to nip at your pulse point. His exit is followed by a rush of fluid that sticks to your thighs and stains your sheets.  

“[Y/N],” he breathes, sliding off your back and settling down beside you.

You hum in response, mind drifting further and further away as you snuggle deeper into the pillow. The overwhelming fever and the desperate need to get off dissipates with every breath. You’re going to be a walking mess of aches and pains tomorrow. Worth it.

Half asleep, you inch closer to his warmth and murmur, “Steve.”

Nothing more needs to be said out loud, it’s all there in the brush of his fingertips over your shoulder, the arm around your waist that pulls you back into a firm chest, the rustle of fabric as the comforter is pulled up over your bodies, the kiss pressed to your temple.

“We’ll talk later, baby. Get some rest.”

[eirist]

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

TRICK OR TREAT?

One-shot #: 22

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T (Playful, sexy, suggestive)

Note: Happy Halloween! What is this day if we don’t have a ZoNa one-shot centered on this theme right? This is Prompt #9 – Trick or Treat from the Autumn/Fall (and Halloween!) Prompt List.

Summary: Because when are treats just sweets?

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Laughter filled the air, its tone howling and mocking—obviously at the expense of one poor soul unluckily enough to be the cause of it.

“Shut. Up.”

That comment prompted another round of laughter. Louder, more jeering.

“What in the—hahaha!—world… ha-happened to y-you?” Usopp stammered the question, gasping for air as he tried to get some words out while still laughing.

“I said. Shut. Up!” Zoro snarled towards his direction.

Sanji’s grin was pure evil as he peered down from the galley deck, laughing as well. “Say what now?” He teased. “Kindly… uh… growl that again for us?”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Usopp did not hold back this time. He had actually fallen down to his knees on the grassy deck, laughing still and clutching his middle at the same time.

“Guys…” Nami was trying hard—very hard—to hold back her own laughter at the sight before her. Her lower lip trembled at the effort and she bit at it, hoping to gain some control.

“But Nami-san…!” Sanji wasn’t able to continue what he was saying. He exploded into laughter again while pointing at the three figures standing in the middle of the Sunny’s deck.

Their three crewmates had just returned to the ship after frolicking in the island where they are docked. It would’ve been a normal occurrence… if not for the fact that the three are wearing costumes.

Animal costumes.

Animal jumpsuit costumes.

Nami covered her mouth with her hand to prevent the snort of  laughter that threatened to come out of her as she stared at Luffy, Chopper and…

… dear Kami, Zoro.

Her eyes met his and her shoulders shook from hindering her laugh. His glare was scathing, venomous even.

And she wisely kept her mouth shut lest she incur his wrath.

She actually doesn’t want to get into his bad side tonight.

Not when he is in that tiger costume looking like he was gonna maul everyone to death any minute now.

Nami managed to take a deep breath and compose herself. Yet, she cannot prevent a grin from appearing on her face as she asked. “Are you gonna tell us what’s up? And what’s with the outfits?”

Usopp and Sanji were laughing again, slapping their hands against the lawn deck and the banister respectively.

Franky walked past them on his way to the dock system. And he did a double take. A minute passed before he said, "Aw! Nice costume Zoro!" He gave him a thumbs up before disappearing down the hatch.

If looks could only kill, the cyborg will be dead on the spot… right after that comment.

Zoro’s lone eye narrowed at the two. “You two done now?” He looked unamused; arms folded over his chest as he waited for his idiot crew mates to calm down.

Which honestly looks like it’s gonna take some time.

“No, not yet!” Usopp was still cackling. “This is gold.” He was now sitting down the lawn deck, trying to catch his breath. “Haaah! I’m laughing so hard I think my stomach muscles are cramping.”

“What in the world made you wear that marimo?” Sanji was now heading down the stairs, shaking his head, the snide grin never leaving his face.

Zoro didn’t answer, instead he pinned the blond with the deadliest glare he could muster.

Which is definitely not working since what he was currently wearing undermines the intensity of the look he was giving the chef.

“I asked him to…” Chopper suddenly said in shy, little voice that had most of the Mugiwaras halting. Usopp choked in the middle of his laughter, ending in a coughing fit as he tried to get some air into his lungs.

The others exchanged glances. Everyone has a weak spot for the reindeer after all.

“Actually, me and Luffy kinda forced him.” Chopper admitted, looking up at Zoro who was still glaring at the cook.

Ah. Everyone had the same thought instantly. The reindeer and the captain, huh? The two persons on the ship that the swordsman can hardly ever say no to.

“Well,” Sanji squared his shoulder. “Good job choosing the costume then.”

An expletive escaped Zoro’s mouth.

The cook’s face lit up at that as he reached the deck, standing beside the still crouching Usopp. “Louder will ya?” He smirked. “Aren’t tigers supposed to be capable of growling loudly?”

“I will bite you in half shitty cook!”

“Whoa! I see we are really getting into character now. Whatever happened to using your katanas?”

“Temee…”

“Sanji-kun!” Nami suddenly stepped in front of Zoro with one hand pushing at the taller man’s face. “Stop riling the tiger up!”

“Grrr… you’re next witch!” Zoro scowled underneath her palm, before slapping it away with his own hand… or paw to be exact.

“I think we look awesome!” Luffy shouted excitedly. “Chopper and I really got lots of candies and goodies!” He showed them the pumpkin pails he was holding, overflowing with different treats.

“Yes!” Chopper’s eyes are brimming with delight. “And Zoro gave us his share as well!!!” He also showed them his goodies.

“Don’t need ‘em,” Zoro muttered curtly, still trying to swat Nami’s hand away.

“Oh?” Sanji leaned down to inspect their pails. “Looks like the tiger’s kind of a softie.”

Now that had Zoro roaring and lunging at the blond. “Come here shit cook!”

Nami thwarted his effort with a hand on his chest and the other scratching one fluffy ear of the costume’s hoodie.

“There, there tiger,” she cooed. “Calm down.”

“Stop it witch!” He glowered at her. But it turned to a smirk when Sanji whined a ‘Nami-san, pet me too!’.

“Aho…” he drawled and it was Sanji’s turn to get riled up.

“GET AWAY FROM NAMI-SAN YOU DUMBASS!!!”

Robin came out of the aquarium bar and approached the group. She had heard the commotion but refrained from leaving her location. She was engrossed with the book that she was reading and had used her hana hana no mi to find out what’s going on.

“Ara…” she said gaining everyone’s attention. “Did you three have fun?”

“Robin-chwaan!” Sanji was immediately distracted by his other female crewmate. “I hope we didn’t disturb you my lady.” He was instantly suave and gentlemanly and was kneeling down on knee, holding the older woman’s hand in his.

“Not at all,” she smiled. “How was your trip in the town?” She directed the question to the three costumed Mugiwaras. Not once did her calm, composed demeanor break… even at the sight of their intimidating swordsman donning on an animal jumpsuit.

“It was so much fun!” Chopper gushed showing her the pumpkin pails. “Look at all the candy I got Robin!”

“Me too! Me too!” Luffy flaunted his as well.

“Looks like it was an amazing trip then,” Robin smiled.

Luffy nodded. “Yep it was awesome! They have something going on there where. You knock on doors and say trick or treat!”

“Then they will give you candies! Lots and lots of candies!” Chopper explained giddily.

“But you have to be in a costume first! And Zoro said we can’t go knocking on houses dressed in the usual!” The rubberman added.

Behind them Zoro was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Pretty good call,” Brook suddenly appeared and sauntered towards them with a tea cup in hand, nodding at Zoro. “We are in a civilian territory and some might recognize your faces from the posters Luffy-san.”

“I’m surprised you don’t find this funny.” Usopp pointed at the three, raising an eyebrow at the skeleton.

“Ah I did… I already laughed my eyes out before I went here, yohohohoh! Even if I—”

“—don’t have eyes to see.” Usopp deadpanned with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

“That is not very nice Usopp-san!” Brook retorted when his skull joke was foiled.

“Hmmm…” Nami suddenly hummed. “I see… since Zoro is the delegated baby-sitter of you two for the night…hence the costume.” She smiled cheekily at him before scratching his tiger ear again and he gave her a sharp look.

Luffy nodded. “You said he should come with us! And I’m not gonna go back here empty-handed. Everyone is giving away treats and candies in town!” Then he frowned. “But there’s no meat though…”

Robin laughed softly. “Well, the island’s tradition is to give out sweets to those who are trick or treating. That’s why there are no meats or other foods.”

“Or beer.” Zoro complained as Nami flicked Zoro’s nose playfully.

He glared angrily at her.

“So who picked the animal costumes?” The navigator asked, curious why Zoro ended up looking like this.

“Us!!!” Luffy and Chopper raised their hands.

“I wanted to be the monkey!” Luffy pumped his hands into the air. “Because…”

“Monkey D. Luffy?” Sanji cut in, blowing a stream of smoke nonchalantly.

“Right!”

“Figures.”

“And Chopper-san’s supposed to be a…?” Brook queried.

“Tanuki,” Zoro answered, his lone grey eye still looking daggers on Nami.

“Isn’t that a bit redundant?” Usopp raised an eyebrow at Chopper.

“It’s not a raccoon-dog! It’s a raccoon Zoro!” The doctor corrected him.

“Right. Sorry.”

“So you’re a….” the sniper prompted. He still cannot make up his mind between raccoon, raccoon-dog or a reindeer in a reindeer costume.

“Raccoon! This costume is a raccoon!”

“Honestly, I’m confused,” the sharpshooter admitted, blinking at the others doubtfully.

“Usopp you asshole!” Chopper screamed in indignation.

“Hahaha! Just kidding,” Usopp backtracked. “Of course the great god Usopp knows what you are already!”

“Which is?” Nami queried, looking at him unconvincingly.

Usopp coughed and ignored her. “And how did Zoro ended up as a tiger?”

“It was the only available one,” the swordsman grunted.

“Why didn’t you just covered him with anything green and let him come as his marimo self?” Sanji inquired, that shit-eating grin he has on his face never waning.

“I will kill you aho cook.”

“Oh!” Sanji trembled mockingly. “Whatcha gonna do hit me with your paw?”

They were about to lunge at each other when Nami raised both of her hands to stop them.

“That is enough!” Nami then stood on tiptoes and reached out to pinched ears of the tiger costume. “Let’s all just agree that as much as it is funny, they look absolutely cute.

Sanji looked shocked and whimpered, “Nami-san!”

“I am not cute woman! Get off!” Zoro groused as he tried to pull Nami’s hands away. It required some effort to be honest as the jumpsuit he was wearing ended up with paws for the hands.

Robin let out a soft giggle. “For what it’s worth… I honestly think it is cute Zoro.” She offered her two cent’s worth, her smile ever polite. “And sweet,” she added as well as her gaze hovered over Chopper and Luffy affectionately, knowing that the swordsman did it for the two.

“It is,” Nami agreed, breaking into a grin. “Especially that drawn nose and whiskers.” She tapped Zoro’s nose and it had him growling at her. This time she laughed… out loud. He’s kinda getting into that tiger persona quite effortlessly.

Though she maybe laughing at green-haired man’s expense yet that doesn’t mean she didn’t find his current look… enticing. And yes, cute.

Absolutely cute.

She could just eat him right here. Right now.

Zoro snorted even as his face turned red at their comments. Chopper then explained that the store owner where they got the costumes from had offered to draw on Luffy and Zoro’s faces.

“It is cute, ne Robin?” Luffy aimed the question at the older woman, smiling brightly.

Robin’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “It is senchou.”  

“Hey! Why don’t we all go and trick or treat some more?” Luffy suggested. “I’m pretty sure there are houses we still haven’t visited…”

“Yes!” Chopper pumped his hooves up in the air. “More candies!”

“Sanji you should go with us as well! We’ll find you a costume like what we have!” Luffy grabbed the cook’s hands much to his chagrin.

“What? NO!”

“Good maybe there’s an ero-kappa costume where we got this. That’ll suit him.” Zoro suggested, smirking at the thought that the stupid chef will end up in a stupid costume just like him.

If it wasn’t for Luffy and Chopper… this would not have taken place. Damn it!

“You asshole!” Sanji shouted as the same notion dawned into him.

“I’m done.” Zoro then announced with a huff. “It’s your turn to babysit them now. I’m gonna go nap. Chopper, you can drag Usopp as well this time for another round of trick or treating.”

“Alright.” The reindeer beamed at him. “Zoro thank you for tonight!”

That pulled the corner of the grumpy tiger’s lips up before he headed towards the sleeping quarters.

“Not another word witch.” He muttered as he passed by a still grinning Nami.

“I didn’t say anything,” Nami retorted as she watched him head towards the men’s room.

“So,” Robin caught everyone’s attention at that. “Shall we head back to town, get some costumes and enjoy some trick or treating ourselves?”

A chorus of yes answered her.

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

A soft knock on the door woke Zoro up.

He opened his eye at the sound. The men’s quarter was dark and the ship silent. 

The others are still probably trick or treating in the island.

Sitting up he realized that must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa in the middle of the room instead of his bunk bed.

Another knock sounded. And he sleepily stood up, groaning when he realized he still hadn’t gotten out of the stupid tiger costume he was wearing.

Running a paw over his head (in an attempt to run his fingers through his hair) he approached the door and opened it.

He was met with a Cheshire cat-like smile on a cat burglar’s face—who was wearing a sexy, black cat costume.

A far cry from the conservative jumpsuit he and the others had on.

She was clad in a one piece black suit so tight it was hugging her curves. The front was zip only halfway up, displaying her ample cleavage. Black stockings and heels made up the lower part of her attire and cute cat ears headband completed her feline ensemble.

Trust Nami to find some way to don a costume that’ll flaunt all her generous assets.

"Trick or treat?"

She inquired as she smirked at him.

"Tch!"

And she chortled as his reaction, plus at the fact that he still hadn’t taken his tiger costume off. She took a step inside, her black high heels made a clicking sound against the wooden floor, the tail of her one piece suit swaying at her movement in time with her orange curls.

"So trick or treat?" She repeated when Zoro didn’t make another sound and instead was scrutinizing her up and down.

Zoro snorted as he followed her. Her hand reached out and grabbed the front of his jumpsuit, pulling him closer to her. Licking her thumb, she reached out to try to erase the drawn tiger’s nose on his own, as well as the whiskers on his face.

“None,” he finally answered as she rubbed her finger on his face.

Nami laughed. What a grouch. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. His arms automatically encircled her waist.

“Wrong answer,” she whispered cattily.

“I don’t have any treats here. Luffy and Chopper has them.”

“Wrong again,” she kissed him on the jaw, tugging back the hood of his costume so she can ran her fingers through his hair.

His lips quirked up as she placed light, nipping kisses on his lips… her teasing smile never leaving her face.

She tugged at the front zipper of his costume down and watched fascinated as the toned muscles underneath it were slowly exposed. 

"See Zoro…” she said, savoring the sight before as her eyes and hands trailed down his body. She pushed the garment off his shoulders. “Here’s my treat." She declared licking her lips naughtily.

[jojo-reader-hell]

We’re not getting off this Poly Train until y’all realize we can have Erina x Reader x Jonathan: Modern AU

The muffled whisper of the pilot wakes you from a deep sleep where you’re ninety nine percent sure you had your mouth open. Fifteen minutes to landing, weather is rainy, he spouts off the temperature but you don’t really pay attention because there’s a very intense pair of blue eyes trained on you, chubby hands patting your chest in a demand.

“I’m sorry honey... you been awake long?”

Tiny fingers pluck at your top, far too chubby and uncoordinated to work the small buttons but his intellect is startling. Your baby is too smart for his own good, at two months he responds to certain words in unique ways, he knows that you unbutton your shirt to give him milk, and he responds to your smile with an even bigger toothless grin. Call you a brainless mother, but you can’t help but be one of those mothers that just thinks everything her child does is genius.

“We’re almost there.” You coo down at the little head of blue black hair as he eats. You heard that nursing helps calm babies down when the plane lands or takes off, and so far your son has been a good little traveler.

One tiny hand presses against your heart as you talk earnestly to the baby, telling him about the new country he’s going to make his home for the rest of his life and the new house he’s going to live in.

“Daddy is there,” you tell him, “And so is Mama and big brother. They’ve made a nice little room just for you in their big house, and your new doggie and kitty are waiting very patiently to cuddle you and give you so many kissies.”

Giorno watches you, his face impassive, lips turned outward like a fish as you tell him so many wonderful things. You wonder sometimes if he understands you when you talk to him, or does it all sound the same whether in English or Italian? You’re not really sure, but you speak both to him just as often and each time you speak his eyes focus directly on you no matter what.

“We’ll have all our things, your new crib, and even some toys your big brother got for you two to play with.” You whisper. “We’ll even have a bigger bathtub! So once we get home I’ll give us both a nice, warm bath. Won’t you like that mimmo?”

For some reason Giorno seems to have a little relief on his face, finally relaxing into the feed as his eyes droop. That was a big mood. You both are exhausted. It’s been a little rough living in a bare room this last week, but you made it work with the bare essentials and found it so easy to live with things you only had to pack up in two suitcases and a diaper bag. Your son was such a trooper. He did very well when your girlfriend came and helped you pack up everything so you both could ship it to London in boxes or sell the furniture you didn’t need anymore, but he did fuss sometimes about his toys, or the kitty your lover took with her.

In the long run, living with next to no possessions was a blessing. Erina was smart to take the cat and pack up the house immediately, months in advance she requested all the proper forms to have it transported, and after the last visit she said kitty was adjusting very well to her new house (George, she discovered, was a five year old cat whisperer who constantly made sure your pet was well fed and well loved). The last time you all had a group chat, kitty had even gone up to the screen at the sound of your voice, and meowed sweetly as though you were standing right in front of her.

You were excited and relieved. It felt as though you were going to the UK for the first time instead of possibly the hundredth. Who counted anymore? All you knew is this would be the last time you’d ever feel that familiar overwhelming loneliness being so far away from your loving family.

“Few more minutes Gigi...” you coo to your son. “You take your time and have as much as you want.”

You’re worried he’ll be overwhelmed with all the bustle around the airport this time of night. Customs takes forever, even if you’re arriving a few hours after your baby’s bedtime. There’s always a crowd, normally they never made you nervous before but with a new baby there’s nothing but anxiety and paranoia at the most minuscule of dangers. People stare at him like they want to interact with him and you’ll shift him out of view into your coat. Some other brat kept screaming in its seat and jarred your baby out of a deep sleep when it started coughing, and you’d had to do a lot of breathing techniques to prevent yourself from having an anxiety attack. Being stationary at the airport wasn’t much comfort either... Old women will pick their teeth, stick their hand in their pants, scratch nasty places, or poke their nose, then approach you with outstretched fingers wanting to touch your son’s clean cheek and it’s enough to make you gather your shit and run the opposite direction.

The world is a frightening, disgusting place now that you have a newborn, and you won’t feel safe until you’re surrounded by your impenetrable fortress that is currently parking the car at London Luton.

It takes forever for the plane to land and situate, but finally you’re able to stand and hoist your diaper bag over your shoulder after helping Giorno relax as the plane makes a jarring landing. He’s still latched onto your breast, and you notice with some relief that no one really stares at you when you adjust Giorno’s sling. Everyone is exhausted. Waiting to go home just like you are, and it’s already raining once you exit the craft and onto the tarmac.

Your phone is buzzing, the plan your boyfriend bought you has already activated and it will stay that way for a few days until you’re able to get a new phone here in London. It would be nice to answer the phone and hear a familiar voice, but your hands are full trying to burp the baby and it doesn’t make it any easier that you’re doing it on a shuttle. You grab for the nearest handrail, scrunch tightly in a corner and brace yourself as the bus totters along the tarmac while Giorno makes his tiny burps, his little face smoothing out from the scrunched up anger he had being around so many strangers.

Finally when you disembark the shuttle and hurry into the building out of the rain (it was a mission and a half trying to keep Giorno dry) you’re able to return the frantic calls you’ve been receiving.

“Hello?” Your voice is getting low from exhaustion. The prospect of customs is dauntingly close.

“Mum! Where are you? Are you bringing me my brother?!”

That tiny voice with the most decidedly cutest accent you’ve ever heard makes your heart flutter in your chest and your smile wake up.

“Hiya Georgie!” You coo back into the phone as Giorno watches you with big eyes. “Your brother is here with me. I just have to get us through customs and then we’ll be with you before you know it.”

“Would you please hurry mum? I miss you!” his voice is that typical demanding monotone, but you know he’s probably just tired and cranky from being up past his bedtime.

“I promise I’ll hurry as best I can my love. You don’t worry your pretty little head. I miss you too, but I’m here now topolino. Can I talk to mommy please?”

In the background you hear his father reprimand him gently, but you also hear his very serious “mummy, phone!” and the softest chuckle that makes your heart do backflips.

“I’m sorry darling. He’s been antsy all day and had to get the corner because he got grumpy with daddy.”

That soothing voice makes your heart leap, that familiar pull also turns your face a bright red as you follow the other passengers into a line up in customs.

“Well...” your voice is low, sultry. “I’m a bit antsy too, are you going to have to punish me as well, sweet Eri?”

The way Erina scolds you with a sharp squeak of your name makes you grin even larger. You lean down to kiss your baby’s head as he continues to stare up at you, transfixed on your voice and possibly wondering in his baby way who you’re talking to. Even Erina begins to scold, and you can tell she is over the long wait and ready for you to come home too. All you can do is smile at your baby like a fool as Erina pesters you about propriety. She may look on the outside the very picture of a timid little blonde, but you know better. She’s a spitfire who can take command of a rioting crowd with voice alone, and you can’t wait for her to cover you head to toe in her affection.

“-not be saying that in front of all those people! I swear, you’re both just the same! The nerve, the audacity-...”

“I’m almost there my love. I’m sorry. I just can’t wait any longer to be with my family. Can I talk to Jojo please?”

Erina stops her ranting when you ask so politely. You’ve still got a bit longer to wait to scan both passports, and you’re already fishing them out of the sling pocket where they’ve been resting with Giorno this entire time. She relents with a final “be safe” and an exchange of love before she relinquishes the phone.

“Darling!” A deep voice, so warm and sincere with boyish charm, almost sounds like a squeak at the prospect of hearing your voice.

“I’m home Jojo.” You say. “I just wanted to hear your voice before I go through.”

There’s a few more families ahead of you, and even though you feel a bit bad cutting his time talking to you short, you know you’ll make it up to him later on.

“Quickly, I just wanted to tell you we all love you both! And we’re all here waiting, do you have any bags?” He is breathless, excited, forgetting the plan and just as raring to see his new son as everyone else.

“Yes Jojo, we’ll have to get them once I’m free. It’s my turn now.”

“I love you!”

You have to respond, tell him you love him too before placing the phone in your sling pocket (did you even hang up? Oh well…), and you head up holding both passports at an awkward angle. Luckily you’re not doing this one handed. Jonathan had been the one to suggest the feeding sling for your baby, and it’s so easy to do things when Giorno is just nestled in his little pouch. You could probably juggle chainsaws with him, but right now it’s just needed to get you through this damn line.

As soon as you’re through, and there’s only one direction left to go passed the money exchange, you feel your heart begin to pound rapidly in your chest. Giorno pulls on your shirt, almost like he can read your mind, and you have to kiss his tiny hands with shaky lips. You have to be careful. Prevent yourself from losing your cool and tripping over your own two feet because you were too excited. So many extra things to worry about now that you’re a mother, but that’s ok. As long as you keep grounding yourself with the baby and slowing the hell down.

You hear them calling your name before you see them. Immediately your head snaps towards the sound, and you have to keep it together before you break out into a run. The first one you focus on is George, over excitable as always whenever he sees you. Then you see Erina, her cheeks are pink and eyes shining with those happy tears when she sees you with one hand on Giorno’s sling. And finally, you see Jonathan, trembling and holding tightly to the handle on Danny’s harness while even the gigantic Great Dane senses the excitement. It feels like walking underwater towards them, but George is the first to break free from his mother’s grip and lunges at you. You brace for impact and let him do what he wishes, grabbing your leg tightly and practically screaming for you at the top of his lungs.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

“Shhhh…” you try to calm him from screaming and scaring the baby.

Giorno doesn’t seem to be too frightened however, he turns in the sling to stare at the little boy with wide eyes, unaware that the screaming six year old is his big brother. George only stops when you shower him with kisses, his chubby cheeks peppered as you take his hand and lead him with you to your lovers. It’s all over after that. You’re pulled every which way to be kissed and loved it makes you dizzy, and Jonathan nearly loses balance when Danny tries to prevent him from having an attack because of all the excitement.

“Oh, oh!” Jonathan coos when he sees his newborn son looking soulfully up at him from the sling. “Hello my love. Don’t cry, did I scare you?”

“I think he’s overwhelmed with all this love.” Erina laughs, picking up her son as easily as one would a feather pillow so that George could look at his new baby brother.

“My brother!” It’s all George can seem to say.

You beam at the attention, cradling the baby and pulling back the sling so your lovers can gush about their new son. To Erina, who hadn’t been able to attend your birth, this is the first time Giorno has been seen outside of an ultrasound or touched outside of her beautifully slender hands caressing the taut skin of your tummy. Jonathan attended the birth and stayed a few weeks after, and there’s a wordless struggle for possession of the baby between him and Erina as they lean towards your chest to place kisses on his plump cheeks.

Even more sweet is the tiny hand that reaches out from the sling, groping for something, the three of you are unsure what he wants, until you see Giorno’s tiny hand lightly caress George’s cheek.

“Let’s go, we need to get your bags, and then make our way home.” Erina smiles, kissing your lips ever so gently.

“Home…” Jonathan coos fondly.

The way they say it, it makes you ache. You won’t stop aching until you get home, but the pain begins to dull when Erina takes one hand, and Jonathan the other, leading you to the luggage carousel where you will collect the last few things you own. Your old life is behind you now, the prospect of a new life, a happier one now that you’re home, looms in the distance. At this time of night the airport is slowly being deserted, but there’s still a crowd that looks on, almost perplexed at the family consisting of three adults, a service dog, and two little boys who look at each other as if they have found a treasure.

[haikyuu-sickfics]

Vomit warning!

Gah, the pacing of this is so out of wack and rushed, I hope it’s at least readable.  Anyways, here’s the mass illness Inarizaki I mentioned

Shinsuke Kita was observant.

This was a known fact by everyone on the Inarizaki volleyball team.  A fact reaffirmed time and time again whenever he sent a teammate home for showing even the smallest symptoms of illness or for limping ever so slightly to comfort an injury.

In short, he was known to not be a risk-taker when it came to health and wellness.

So why, pray tell, was he allowing a very visibly unwell Atsumu to remain on court, setting wonky balls and diving seconds too late.

The setter’s lackluster performance went unnoticed by no one- even the coaches were shocked at how this very clearly unwell Atsumu had remained unscolded by Shinsuke for so long.

Though a quick glance at the captain revealed why.

His skin was 5 shades paler than usual, bringing out the light pink flush dusting his cheeks.  Perspiration, more than what was normal considering the lowkey practice today, glued his fringe down to his forehead.  

Well, that explained a lot, Atsumu’s illness went unnoticed by Shinsuke because the latter appeared to be in a strikingly similar state.

Which was also unusual.  One would think Shinsuke would be observant and careful of his own health, considering how involved he was in those departments for others.  Though, it’s not too difficult to chalk that up to Shinsuke being so delirious that he didn’t even realize his own poor performance.  Then again it could also be that that team was currently at a training camp hours away from Hyogo and not much could be done in terms of going home and resting even if one was sick.

So they let it slide, the coaches not doing anything more than sending cautious glances at the two uneasy boys and telling everyone to not push themselves too hard.

It was unsafe, reckless, and by this point, Aran had had enough of it.

“Kita, you’re not looking too good,” he finally spoke up, voicing the teams concerns.

“Yea you look like shit,” Michinari added, turning his attention away from Ren who was practicing his serves and ignoring Aran’s glare.

Shinsuke blinked.  Then once more, his eyes wide and uncharacteristically clueless and fully unaware of the rest of the team stealing quick glances in his direction

“Hmm, what do you mean?” He cocked his head to the side, “is that mean to be an insult?”

“No no!” Aran quickly covered, giving Michinari a side-eye, “You just look like you could use a break, maybe get some water and rest.”

Shinsuke blinked again, now growing mildly aware of the fact that the players on the court were not-so-subtly staring at him.

“Yea, maybe you’re right,” Shinsuke finally admitted, swiping the back of his hand against his moist forehead.

“You too, Atsumu,” coach Kurosu added, calling over to the wobbly setter.

“Hah?!” he exclaimed, “Why me?”

Osamu sent him a look that said ‘are you seriously asking that question, you dense idiot’ to which Atsumu replied with a look that stated ‘yes, yes I am.’

After a second or two of the twins having a silent conversation, Aran took the situation into his own hands and ushered the two visibly sick players out of the gym and off into the room where the team’s futons were set up.

“Alright,” Michinari called out with a clap, “Now that they’re gone I’m the only third-year left, so I’m putting myself in charge.”

“What about me?” Ren interjected with a playful smile on his face, signaling his offense was fake.

Michinari looked over to him and smiled innocently before turning to the rest of the team and giving them various things to work on.

Practice continued relatively normal after that,  Michinari called out far more inspirational cheers than usual to make up for the loss of the teams two captains.

Though, his enthusiasm died down drastically within 5 minutes.  No one paid much mind to this, them all being too absorbed in their individual practice or worrying about the missing teammates.  But Rin, who was well versed in Michinari’s seemingly endless enthusiasm, couldn’t help but to worry.

So he discreetly called out for Michinari’s attention, sending him a questioning face and a thumbs-up as his way of asking whether or not the libero was alright.

Michinari shut a thumbs up back, attempting a smile which only made Rin more nervous.  The libero’s eyes were furrowed, giving his eyes a rather sad look.  The smile resembled more of a grimace, accompanying his seemingly paler than usual skin.

Rin hurried to his friend, fully intent on taking him to the room where Shinsuke, Atsumu, and Aran were settled.

However, just as Rin was 3 steps away, a desperate voice yelled ‘Akagi-san!’ followed by a hollow thump as a volleyball bounced off Michinari’s chest.

Silence fell upon the gym as everyone’s eyes widened, glued on the now floored libero.  No one moved, even Rin forget how to put one leg in front of another as Michinari coughed and gagged helplessly, his knees and the plans of his hands pressed against the hard floor.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a splash alerted the gym of Michinari’s heaves finally becoming productive.  The awful sound powered Rin back up, a new sense of urgency overcoming him as he knelt down beside his friend and brushed his fringe away from his sweaty forehead.

“Bucket!  Someone get a bucket!” A coach called out to the team.

“Ok let’s get out of here now,” Rin began, lightly trying to pull Michinari uo.

The latter shook his head, his cheeks puffed out to alert that he was not done yet. His back arched suddenly, his chin tucking slightly into his neck as sick worked it’s way up his throat.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, a second-year forced a bucket under his chin, holding it above the ground as to not soil the bottom with what was already on the ground.  Michinari would’ve given them a thankful look, but intense nausea warned him that now was not the time.

Instead, a loud gag brought a thick wave of vomit splashing into the bin, followed by a couple coughs.

“Water?” Hitoshi offered, using his left hand to extend Michinari’s water bottle to him.

Michinari hummed, lifting his head out of the bin to accept the bottle.  He then took a mouthful of water in his mouth and swished it around a bit before spitting it back out into the bin.

After a couple seconds of Michinari swishing out his mouth, he looked over to Rin and nodded.  The latter nodded back, standing up and helping Michinari to his feet.

They walked out of the gym together, Michinari leaning heavily on Rin and holding the bin near his waist.  Their steps were a bit awkward, a result of the height difference, but they made it work.

Across the gym, watching this ordeal with uncharacteristically wide eyes was Osamu.  He had been feeling a little off ever since Atsumu had left, but chalked it up to nerves.  It wasn’t unusual for Osamu to see Atsumu sick or hurt and feel the same symptoms, his mother called it a twin thing, but the severity of the symptoms were abnormal.  And Michinari falling ill only added to the idea that maybe he wasn’t imagining the nausea churning in his gut and the excess saliva in his mouth.  

“Are you okay, ‘Samu?” Rintarou asked, his hands shoved in his jacket pocket and voice deadpanned.  It wasn’t that he wasn’t concerned for Osamu’s wellbeing, he just didn’t like expressing it.

“Mn-mn,” Osamu hummed in a negatory response, not feeling comfortable enough to open his mouth.

“Ok… um… do you wanna uh step outside or to where the other sick people are?”

Osamu shrugged, bringing a fist up to his mouth to stifle a burp.

“How about outside, I think air would be nice,” Rintarou stated, tugging at his own shirt collar to cool off his uncomfortably hot torso.

Osamu nodded, turning towards the large door to the outside and walking over slowly, Rintarou keeping pace slightly behind.  The coaches ignored them, considering what had just happened moments ago, stopping two people from leaving to get air was a bad idea.

They only took two steps into the green grass outside before a loud retch forced its way out of Osamu.  Rintarou looked over with wide eyes as Osamu slapped a hand over his mouth.

“You should probably,” he paused to gulp down his own nausea, “just let it out.”

Osamu looked over to Rintarou before nodding and removing the hand from his mouth.  Saliva dripped out as Osamu leaned forward and let his mouth fall open.

A couple feet away, Rintarou was beginning to lose the battle with his own stomach.  Instead of standing up like Osamu, Rintarou was crouched down, leaning over his knees which were pressed tightly against his chest.  The position did nothing to help his nausea, the pressure actually only served to make him feel more sick.

Osamu lost it first, a sharp gag pressed against his stomach and forced out a small wave of vomit.  The sound of it sent Rintarou over to edge, a much thicker wave splashing onto the grass between his feet.

“You’re sick too?” Osamu sputtered out before his body had a chance to revolt once more.

“No,” Rintarou commented sarcastically just before another heavy wave forced it’s way out of his mouth.

Osamu quickly turned his head away from Rintarou, seeing his friend get so violently ill didn’t do anything to help his situation.

“Poor Ojiro,” Osamu whispered-- if he and Rintarou were this sick he could only imagine how bad Shinsuke and Atsumu had it.

--

Atsumu curled into the bucket on his lap, coughing harshly in an effort to clear his throat from the acidic vomit clinging along its edges.  Aran rubbed between his shoulder blades, warily eying Shinsuke who was sitting in a chair across the room unnaturally still.

A loud retch from Atsumu and the sound of liquid splashing in the bottom of the bucket stole Aran’s attention before he had a chance to ask if Shinsuke needed a bucket as well.

Atsumu groaned, hugging the plastic bin even closer to himself and coughed up another wave.

Aran winced in sympathy, not knowing what else to do other than continue to rub circles onto Atsumu’s back.

Across the room Shinsuke slowly stood up, his eyes containing their usual wideness and empty stare.  

Aran didn’t think much of it.  

He should have.

Without noise, Shinsuke leaned forward and opened his mouth.  After one silent retch and a back arch, a wave of sick fell onto the floor.

It was so quiet that Aran didn’t even hear, not until Ren and Michinari walked through the door and pointed it out.

Aran groaned, Michinari laughed dryly, Ren whimpered, Atsumu coughed, Shinsuke threw up another wave.

“Rag.  I’ll get a rag,” Ren informed, leaving the room.

“How many more?” Aran asked Michinari as the latter sat down.

Michinari shrugged, “Osamu and Rintarou looked kinda shitty but I did just puke on the floor so it’s hard to say.”

Aran nodded.  Best situation was they caught whatever was going around early enough to keep it between the current people in the room.  Worst situation was everyone got it-- an unlikely situation but one to consider nonetheless.

Ren returned, moist rag, cup of water and bucket in hand, and walked over to Shinsuke.

“Take a seat,” he commanded gently, guiding Shinsuke to a sitting position and handing him a bucket.

Shinsuke’s eyes were glazed with fever, he was far out of it and didn’t seem to be coming back any time soon.  Ren set the glass next to him, making sure the latter saw it before walking over to Aran.

“How long has Atsumu been like that?” He asked as Atsumu spit out another wave.

“Why are you talking like I’m not even here?” Atsumu exclaimed with overexaggerated offense.

“You don’t seem to be in a situation to have a conversation,” Ren pointed out.

“How dare y-” a burp cut Atsumu off, forcing him to hang his head over the bucket once more.

Michinari laughed at him before his own nausea spiked and forced him over his bucket once more.

“He threw up in the hall on the way here,” Aran answered Rin’s earlier question, “been like this since.  Shinsuke got sick just before you got here.”

Ren let his head fall back.

Today was going to be a long day.

[fallenqueen2]

Seeing The Unseen [NaruShika]

When Naruto and Shikamaru turn 16, they gain the ability to see their soulmate’s Daemon.

Ao3 Link

Naruto was jolted out of his sleep by something heavy landing on his chest. Naruto was a second away from jumping up onto his feet, hand curled his Kunai ready for the attack but something stopped him. It wasn’t exactly a concrete feeling, but whatever had just landed on him was safe to every part of him and even the Kyuubi stayed silent, which was rare nowadays as he and Jiraiya were working on accessing his powers.

Naruto opened his eyes and was greeted by the most adorable small jet-black kitten that was curled up on his chest. The kitten was already fast asleep and was gently purring as it rose and fell with the rise and fall of Naruto’s chest.

“Oh,” Naruto whispered as he carefully, slowly cupped his hand around the small kitten and an amazed smile crossed his lips as he gently stroked the soft fur.

“What’s going on brat?” Jiraiya rumbled as he rolled onto his side, eyes blinking slowly to look at his student.

“I…My soulmate’s Daemon.” Naruto was in shock and awe as the kitten slept on unaware of the storm of emotions that it just unlocked inside of the 16-year old.

“Yeah? Congrats kid, what does it look like?” Jiraiya asked curiously as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Only the two souls that were meant for each other could see their Daemon’s, well up until the two souls connect and then the Daemon’s would become visible.

Naruto knew that for sure as had been present when Iruka-Sensei had met Kakashi-Sensei and a large silver furred dog with one eye covered and a small brown-furred dog with a scar over its nose came into view, tackling the other happily and both of his Sensei’s had turned a bright red colour as they stared at the other in shock and happiness. Naruto and his team had to a lot of threatening that day, after all, Kakashi-Sensei was a pervert and Iruka-Sensei was amazing, but it seems it turned out okay for them after everything.

“A black kitten, it’s so cute and small,” Naruto said in a shaky voice, as his vision got blurry before he used his free hand to swipe at his eyes.

“Cute and small… What’s wrong kid?” Jiraiya didn’t remember crying when his appeared on his 16th birthday.

“I just… I didn’t think I was going to have a soulmate.” Naruto admitted as he stayed lying down, unwilling to move lest it woke his soulmate’s Daemon up and this all disappeared like a dream.

“What? Why?” Jiraiya was awake now and had a bad feeling in his gut as he watched Naruto stare at his chest with wide, glassy eyes.

“I’m me, a Jinchūriki. I just… I just didn’t think I had one.” Naruto admitted, forcing back the horrid memories of his childhood and all the cruel villagers hurting him, mocking him, telling him that no one would want a monster as a soulmate. Some things he had managed to move past but that one thing, that he wouldn’t have a soulmate, that no one would want him stuck with him.

“Jinchūriki or not, everyone has one. You deserve the happiness that your soulmate can give you, don’t doubt that Naruto.” Jiraiya set his hand on Naruto’s hair, messing it up playfully earning a familiar yelp and pout. Naruto couldn’t help but smile as the kitten on his chest peeled one brown eye and stared at him offended that Naruto had disturbed his sleep.

Naruto cradled the Daemon to his chest as he stood up and giggled as the kitten yawned cutely before scaling his shoulders and plopped down onto his head, making itself comfortable in Naruto’s spiky hair.

“It’s sleeping on my head,” Naruto informed his amused Sensei who was looking at him with fondness that Naruto wasn’t sure was directed at him.

“That makes things easier,” Jiraiya mused before he set about gathering their things up so they could leave.

Naruto lifted his hand and gently scratched the Daemon who purred happily in return and Naruto felt happier and lighter than he had in a very long time.

For days this feeling stayed burning in his chest and his fondness for his soulmate’s lazy Daemon. The kitten barely walked if it could manage to get Naruto to carry him somehow and Naruto would rarely say no, in fact, he fully enjoyed having his soulmate’s Daemon cradled in his arms or draped over his head.

However, when it came time for another session of trying to get the Kyuubi under control, the Daemon was pacing and hissing impatiently from across the clearing as the violent red Chakra whipped around Naruto and the blond fought to control it.

Naruto was only half aware of what was happening as he wrestled for control over the Kyuubi’s angry Chakra and could only dig his newly formed claws into the dirt below him. Jiraiya staggered up from where he hit a tree when one of the tails had lashed out against him.

Naruto, however, became very aware when his soulmate’s Daemon lunged across the clearing towards him and panic bubbled up in his throat at the mere thought of hurting it, hurting his soulmate and getting rejected just as he feared he would be.

His soulmate’s Daemon stood its ground, hair raised on end as it stared down Naruto and the Kyuubi with intense brown eyes. The kitten was suddenly covered in darkness as it shifted and morphed until it was the size of a panther, but the roar it let out was one that rivaled the Kyuubi.

Naruto felt the Kyuubi’s hold on him slip and that was all he needed to yank control back to his side and slam the gates shut between them. Naruto gasped and panted as he collapsed onto the ground, steam rising off of him as the Kyuubi’s Chakra faded away.

Naruto huffed when a familiar tongue touched his cheek and he managed to turn his head to the side to look up at the panther.

“Kage,” Naruto whispered finally deciding on a name and something he had been missing about the kitten, or rather panther cub clicked into place and Naruto passed out with Kage curling around him protectively.

~~/~~

Shikamaru never really made a big deal of his birthday, but he could honestly say that he would have preferred not to be leaping from tree to tree to avoid some hunter-nin on his heels. Shikamaru had once again become a decoy to lead the hunter-nin away from the rest of his team. Shikamaru wasn’t sure why he had agreed to that if he was being honest, but he didn’t have much time left to think about it.

Shikamaru swore as the branch he was about to land on broke in half thanks to one of the hunter-nin’s blowing it to pieces with a fire Jutsu. Shikamaru twisted in the air and managed to land on his feet on the ground below. Shikamaru took off in a different direction, eyes darting side to side as blurry shapes of the hunter-nin overtook him.

Shikamaru skidded to a stop just as Kunai’s dug into the dirt inches away from his feet.

“It was brave if not suicidal of you to act as a decoy,” one of the hunter-nin called out, respect in his tone even as he and the rest of his team unsheathed their Kanata’s from their backs. Shikamaru winced at the sharp blades and weighed his options. Not many of them were left as he heaved a sigh, tipping his head back to look at the night sky.

Shikamaru was coming to terms with his death on the same day he was born when someplace a clock struck the same time he had been born and the world around Shikamaru shifted.

Shikamaru was shaken off balance and landed harshly on his back as a large cloud of smoke engulfed the area. Shikamaru knew that some Daemon’s liked to make dramatic entrances; it depended on whose soul they were representing. Shikamaru had to assume that his soulmate was extra dramatic as he coughed some smoke out of his lungs.

“Oh my God,” Shikamaru whispered in shock as the smoke was flung away by nine large golden foxtails. The golden furred fox was the size of a mountain at the least and roared angrily at the hunter-nin who took one look at the massive distortion and echo of a roar that Shikamaru’s soulmate’s Daemon and took off into the forest. They knew better than to take on a massive and pissed off Daemon, they may be invisible but they could still touch and hurt those who are a threat.

The giant nine tails grunted in approval before its head turned and easily found Shikamaru. The fox’s tails flared out as if it was preening as Shikamaru stared up at it slack-jawed. Shikamaru’s limbs felt like jello and he refused to try to stand as the Daemon preened and showed off for Shikamaru.

The fox let out an earth-shaking roar before it glowed as bright as the sun and Shikamaru soon had his arms full of a smaller version of the golden nine tails. It purred as it nuzzled against Shikamaru’s cheek, tails swaying happily as Shikamaru held it closer on reflex.

“What?” Shikamaru stared at the now content mini nine tail fox curled up against his chest.

“The Kyuubi, a golden Kyuubi is my soulmate’s Daemon… That means…Naruto?” Shikamaru whispered as the pieces fell into place for him and the fox gave a pleased yip before licking his cheek playfully.

“This is going to be so troublesome, I suppose I should at least give you a name?” Shikamaru felt something warm spread in his chest at the thought that Naruto was his soulmate. Shikamaru gently pet the soft gold fur and felt a smile appear when the fox wiggled happily and blinked up at him with familiar blue eyes, hell even the whisker marks where present.

“Taiyō, the Sun.” Shikamaru decided and Taiyō yipped in approval before it clambered up to settle on Shikamaru’s shoulder, it’s small nine tails curling around his neck like a scarf.

“Let’s go find my team and go home, does that sound good Taiyō?” Shikamaru rose to his feet, glad his limbs had returned to normal and he wasn’t being hunted any longer.

Taiyō chirped and nuzzled his cheek again before turning its blue eyes towards the sky almost forlornly. Shikamaru understood almost at once what Taiyō was feeling as he felt it more often than not, which looking back should have been a major clue to who his soulmate was.

“He’ll be home soon,” Shikamaru patted Taiyō’s head, unsure if his words were truthful or not but he hoped he was right as he took to the tree’s again to meet his team at their pre-set meeting point.

~~/~~

Shikamaru had kept what form his soulmate’s Daemon had taken to himself. He knew most weren’t aware of Naruto housing the Kyuubi and it wasn’t Shikamaru’s place to reveal that. Shikamaru had grown accustomed to Taiyō wrapped around his shoulders and neck like an oversized, affectionate scarf or bouncing around at his side like a hyperactive pup. What Shikamaru hadn’t expected for Taiyō to leap off his shoulder while he was talking with Temari and bite at his pant leg, pulling him intently towards a certain street.

“Whoa, calm down!” Shikamaru muttered as he stumbled after the suddenly excited fox, waving awkwardly at Temari who was watching amused as Shikamaru was dragged away by his soulmate’s Daemon.

“Taiyō, seriously!” Shikamaru warned after he almost fell flat on his face as he was dragged around a corner.

“Kage, come back here! You’re usually so lazy, why are you now running?” A familiar if not deep voice rang out and Shikamaru froze as Naruto came into view. Naruto froze when his eyes landed on Shikamaru at the end of the small street that both of them had been dragged too.

Shikamaru could only blink as Taiyō lunged forward and the air shifted to reveal a small black cub of some sort collided with Taiyō. The two small animals yipping and nuzzling each other happily as they reunited.

“Shikamaru?” Naruto’s voice was quiet and unsure.

“…Welcome home Naruto,” Shikamaru followed Taiyō’s example and went to greet his soulmate.

“You’re… You’re really my soulmate?” Naruto’s voice was shaky as he stared at Shikamaru wide-eyed as Shikamaru stopped in front of him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come back home for a while,” Shikamaru placed his hand on a whiskered cheek and smiled when Naruto shuddered even as he nuzzled the other’s palm much like Taiyō does.

“I…Yeah, I’m home.” Naruto sounded choked up, but Shikamaru couldn’t blame him, his throat was closing up a bit as well. Having Naruto here was like coming home in every possible way.

Naruto leaned forward and a smile crossed his lips as Shikamaru’s forehead pressed against his and their hands somehow found each other, twining together as their Daemons’ mirrored them and curled around each other finally content and complete.

~~/~~

I am undertaking the task of creating a ShikaNaru event, so please take some time and fill out this survey and think about joining the event :)

https://shikanaruweekend.tumblr.com/post/619579786207117312/shikamaru-nara-naruto-uzumaki-weekend

[dawninlatin]

Haste

A Feysand Modern AU One Shot

Words: 4433

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: Feyre comes back home after quitting college and breaking up with her boyfriend. During a night out, she starts seeing her friend Rhys in a new light. (Warning: There is some smut by the end)

The title comes from the song “Haste” by RY X, and if you wanna vibe, I suggest you go listen to it:)

A/N: Sorry for how long this note is, guess I had a lot to say, lol. This is actually the first fic I ever wrote, but I wanted to repost it, because I had only posted the AO3 link before, and wasn’t happy with that format. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my amazing followers and readers!<3 

When reading through this fic, there were so many things I wanted to change, (like, why did I think it was a good idea to have every other word written in italics?? And I’m so sorry for the cheesy dialogue and suuuuper long paragraphs...), but I decided to keep it as it was, because it shows how far I’ve come from that day in February where I sat up half the night writing, thinking that no one would ever read this, because my English wasn’t good enough, and my writing wasn’t good enough. 

Yet I still posted it, and the response I got was more than I ever expected! This, along with all the other response I’ve gotten on all my other fics, has helped me so much with my writing, but more importantly, has helped me become the person I am today. So thank you so much, to everyone who takes the time to read, to everyone who likes, and reblogs, and leaves comments, and keep encouraging me! Thank you to all you wonderful people I have gotten to know on this app, tumblr has become a second home for me! From the bottom of my heart, I love y’all!<3<3<3

This was not how Feyre had pictured her night. Had she been the one to decide, it would consist of greasy pizza, a bottle of tequila and some crappy rom-com. Feyre had gotten as far as scrolling through Netflix in search for one, when her best friend Mor walked in the door of the apartment and declared that Feyre better get her ass of that couch, take a fucking shower and put on some decent clothing, because they were going out.

Feyre hadn’t felt like she was in the right position to protest; it was Mor’s couch she’d been occupying for the past week after all. Had it been a week already? she wondered. A week since Feyre had finally broken up with her asshole boyfriend Tamlin and then jumped on a bus to California, because the only person in the world she wanted to be with then was Mor. She had felt the need to share this victory with the only person that could always make her feel better. Of course, the high had ended as soon as she stood on Mor’s doorstep, where she had taken one look at her best friend and turned into a sobbing mess. That was about how she had spent the following week as well. She didn’t want to cry over the bastard, but he had been part of her life for the past two years, and she had loved him. Once.

So instead of spending the night on Mor's couch, wallowing in self pity, Feyre now found herself standing in the middle of a dance club crowded with drunk, sweaty people, playing way too loud music - the blinking lights making her dizzy. She had borrowed one of Mor’s dresses - and though this was considered modest in Mor’s eyes - she found herself constantly pulling at the black fabric, not comfortable with how much thigh it showed off.

Feyre scanned the room, trying to find her friend, and as she was about to declare the task impossible, she eyed a red dress and a head of blond curls. Mor was elbowing her way through the crowd, drinks in hand, accompanied by two men Feyre recognized. The tall, muscular one with shoulder-length, dark hair and a cocky smirk was Cassian, and the slightly shorter one with a shy smile was Azriel.

As they approached her, Cassian went in for a one-armed hug. «It’s good to see you Feyre!» He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back despite her unhappy mood earlier. She really had missed these people.

«Hi Feyre, you look well!» Feyre looked up to see Azriel smiling at her, accompanied by an awkward wave. He was more of the quiet, observing type of guy, but that was exactly what Feyre liked so much about him. He was quiet, yes, but the silence was never uncomfortable.

«You as well, Azriel.» She smiled back at him, then turned towards Mor, who handed her a drink.

«Don’t look so shy Feyre. You look amazing tonight!» Mor winked at her, then gestured to the rest of the club. «You should have seen all the guys eyeing you when we walked in. Actually…if you hadn’t been my best friend, and straight-» she made a disappointed face at that, which made their whole group laugh, including Feyre, «-I totally would have slept with you.» Feyre laughed even more at that, but Mor was right. She felt good tonight. Sexy, even. She felt something she hadn’t felt in a long way. She was excited for what the night - the future - would bring.

«I might not wanna sleep with you, but I think that brunette at the bar wants to.» Feyre nodded her head towards the young woman ogling her friend.

«Hell yes!» Mor exclaimed. She put her arms around Feyre and Azriel’s shoulders. «Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna get laid!»

«Cheers to that!» Cassian laughed, lifting his drink. As Feyre sipped hers, she felt light, almost giddy, with excitement and joy. At the same moment, she noticed someone was missing from their small gathering. Rhys.

She couldn’t fathom how she hadn’t noticed before. Mor’s annoying cousin was difficult to ignore whenever he was present. The prick always teased, always came with innuendos, or witty remarks. He had the biggest ego Feyre had ever encountered. Still, Feyre found herself to be missing Rhysand’s snarky comments and their never-ending banter. Before she had time to stop herself, she spoke the sentence: «Hey guys, where’s Rhys?»

Cassian wiggled his eyebrows at her, but she chose to ignore him. «He’s coming later. Had to work overtime» Mor answered. Feyre nodded, before quickly switching the subject over to their plans for the rest of the summer.

-

As soon as they had some alcohol in their blood, Feyre and her small group of friends moved on to the dance floor. Feyre was jumping around, singing along to whatever song they were blasting, joking and laughing with Mor and Cassian, teasing Azriel for not wanting to join them. They looked like idiots, but they were happy idiots. She could feel the heavy bass in her whole body, along with her beating heart. She was so, so happy . Happier than all of last year combined. Hell, she hadn’t been this happy since high school, when she, Mor, Cassian, Azriel, even Rhys, had been together almost every day. Always laughing, joking. But that had been before Tamlin, and before she had been stupid enough to move halfway across the country for college.

Feyre scolded herself for thinking about Tamlin again. The point of tonight was to forget him. To have fun. And she was having fun, and she was happy. So happy that at any moment she could grow wings and disappear into the night. She had no worries. No worries of the home she had left behind, or college, or her ex-boyfriend, or what tomorrow would bring. She was here, now, and she felt fucking amazing.

Feyre heard Cassian greet someone, and turned just in time to meet a pair of shockingly blue eyes. Rhys. Her breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest, and she found herself not being able to look away. He held her gaze, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Feyre didn’t know if it was the lights, the music, the alcohol, the warm summer night, still young and full of possibilities, or the feeling of finally being free, but it was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

Had he always been this handsome? she asked herself, taking in his lean, muscular form, his tight-fitting jeans, the white shirt opened just enough to show off the tattoos swirling across his chest. She stared at his sharp jawline, his soft lips, his eyes, so blue they were practically glowing, his dark, messy hair. Oh, how she wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

A cough from Mor made Feyre tear her eyes away at last. I must be drunker than I thought , she mused. This was Rhys she was thinking about. The man who annoyed her to no end. The man who was known for his many hook-ups and one night stands and flirts and just- argh.

«How nice of you to finally show up,» Cassian said as he threw an arm around Rhys’ shoulder and handed him a drink. Rhys made a comment that had Cassian roaring with laughter, but Feyre didn’t hear what it was, because Rhys was looking at her with such an intensity that it made her insides tingle. Stop it, she thought. You had a boyfriend just a week ago.

«Hey Feyre. It’s good to see you again.» Rhys smiled at her, but it wasn’t his usual cocky smirk. It almost looked a little sad. Feyre suddenly found the floor very interesting, not being able to keep herself from blushing or biting her lip. She could feel his eyes on her. Burning. Then Mor shouted «Who wants shots?», and the moment was over.

-

The night went on. They drank, they danced, they talked about college and hook-ups and high school. Feyre almost wanted to cry at the feeling of how familiar it all was. She had been afraid that her moving to Boston would change everything - and it had, for a little while - but she was back now, and everything was normal. Except for Rhys, maybe. Something had definitely changed between the two of them.

Gone was the teasing and never-ending banter. In its place was something brand new. They hadn’t said anything to one another except for pleasantries for the entirety of the evening, but Feyre caught him staring at her constantly, with this sad, longing look in his eyes. And to be honest, she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off of him either.

Right now, they were all sitting at the bar, watching Cassian stick his tongue down the throat of some random blonde on the dance floor. Mor suddenly stood up, announcing she was gonna go try her luck with the woman she had been flirting with all night.

«Come on, Azriel. You’re gonna be my wingman.» His protest died on his lips as More pulled him after her.

All there was left, was Feyre and Rhys. Not able to meet each others eyes.

But Feyre was feeling brave this night. It might have been the alcohol, or the still-lingering high of having broken up with the asshole that had made her life miserable for the past year. She muttered a quiet «fuck it», downed her drink, stood up, and looked her friend straight in the eyes. «Do you wanna dance?»

Rhys’s face was lit up by a bright smile. «I thought you’d never ask, Feyre darling.» Her insides warmed at the familiar nickname, and she found herself smiling just as brightly. Rhys took her hand, leading her to the dance floor, where some old EDM shit was playing.

Feyre didn’t care about the bad music, or the bright lights, or the sweat coating her body. She was here with Rhys. His body was so close now, and she could smell his all-familiar scent of citrus and sea.

She lost track of how long they danced. None of them were any good at it, but they were laughing and having fun. Feyre felt 17 again, jumping around, sweaty and drunk, but happy. «God, I missed this!» she exclaimed, grinning at Rhys, just as the fast rhythms and heavy bass switched over to a slow ballad.

Hesitantly, Feyre glanced at Rhys, suddenly feeling shy and unsure. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She understood what he meant immediately, and nodded, biting her lip. Rhys stepped closer, and put his arms around her waist. She placed hers around his neck, swaying along with the music.

She looked at the man in front of her. Really looked at him this time. How had she not noticed before, how strikingly beautiful he was? His sharp angles, kissable lips, silky hair, the blue eyes she could get lost in if she stared for too long. Said eyes were taking in her just as intensely at the moment.

«You are so beautiful tonight, Feyre.» His voice was hoarse, laced with restraint. Feyre felt a longing, deep within herself. She wanted to tell him he was beautiful too, wanted to kiss him, wanted to cry, wanted to just leave, wanted to stay in his arms forever. She wanted to be his.  She did neither, couldn’t find the courage to do so.

Instead, she stepped closer, and pressed her forehead against his, feeling his strained breath against her lips. Everything around them disappeared. The world narrowing down to the two of them, together, forehead against forehead, in the midst of a warm night in June.

Then the song ended, and the moment was over. Feyre stepped back, but she continued to hold his gaze. Rhys looked towards the exit. «Come, I wanna show you something.» He grabbed her hand, and then he was leading her through the crowd. They walked past Mor, who muttered a «fucking finally!» that made them both chuckle.

Outside, they were surrounded by warm, summer air, a chill breeze running over their exposed skin. Rhys looked at Feyre with mischief in his eyes. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

«What exactly was it that you wanted to show me?» she asked, not being able to hide her curiosity.

«You’ll see, just trust me.» Rhys looked giddy with excitement. He was bouncing on his feet now. «Follow me, we don’t wanna miss it.» Then he started walking. Fast.

«Miss what?» Feyre shouted after him, but he didn’t answer. Rhys just kept on walking, and she struggled to keep up with him. «I have shorter legs than you, remember? And I’m currently in heals, which puts me at an unfair disadvantage.» He stopped a few steps ahead, an amused look on his face.

«We have to wait a few minutes now,» he announced, all serious. Feyre looked around where they were standing, a few blocks away from the club. The whole city was sleeping. The sight of the quiet, empty streets bewitching.

Then a bright, yellow bus stopped in front of them. Also empty. She followed Rhys onto it, confusion growing more and more. «The bus? Where exactly are we going?»

The puzzled look on Feyre's face made him chuckle. «I swear, the mystery will be worth it once we get there. Now, we could have walked, but then we would miss it.» He must have seen the question forming on her lips, because he raised a finger. «And no, I still won’t tell you what it is.»

She rolled her eyes and muttered a quiet «prick». The nickname made him laugh, and she laughed with him, because Feyre hadn’t called him that since high school. It had been way too long since they’d been together like this. Still, under all the joking and laughing, there was an unfamiliar tension that hadn’t been there before.

-

After only five minutes, Rhys announced that they had reached their destination. He stepped out onto the street, and led Feyre towards a beach. The sight in front of her was breathtaking. The dark waves crashing against the sand, the sky - the nearing dawn making it a deep pink - birds flying over their heads, and Rhys, who had taken off his shoes and started walking towards the ocean. Feyre followed him, slipping out of her heels. The moment she felt the familiar California sand under her toes again, she laughed with joy. A rich and warm sound she hadn’t made in forever.

Rhys, who was standing in the water now, looked up at her, the same bright smile on his face. He waved at her to hurry up, and she walked the final steps to him. The sea was warm, and the salty smell of it was amazing. It was home. She looked towards the horizon, where the sun barely had begun to rise. Then she looked up at Rhys again.

«The sunrise. That’s what you wanted to show me.»  Rhys only nodded, before looking ahead of them. Feyre took in the sight again, and she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She wanted, no, she needed to paint.

Her thoughts were disturbed by Rhys, who was now sitting in the sand, jeans cuffed up to his knees. «Come sit with me, Feyre.» He patted the spot next to him.

Feyre stepped back and sat down, feeling the waves crash against her legs. She looked to Rhys, and said the only thing that could come to her mind with a playful smirk on her lips. «How did your dad take it when he found out his only son was gonna major in English, and not business?»

Rhys grimaced. «He was pissed at first, even threatened to write me out of his will, but he came around - eventually.» They chuckled at that, both knowing how angry Rhys’ father could get, but also how he always gave in when it came to his children. «How about you? How’s all the art stuff going?» Rhys asked, his eyebrows raised in question.

«Urgh,» Feyre cringed, «I dropped out in March, haven’t touched a paint brush since.» She should have been sad or ashamed when admitting that, but she felt good, knowing she had made the right choice. She had been miserable in Boston.

Rhys looked at her, concern lining his face. «That bad, huh?»

«What can I say? Boston sucked, and I would much rather be here, with you guys.» She grinned at him, and he grinned back.

«So you’re back for good now?» Feyre only nodded, turning back towards the rising sun.

The sight in front of her was hypnotizing. «I didn’t realize how much I’ve really missed home.» The words were out before she managed to think. Rhys only hummed quietly beside her. Seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Feyre turned towards him. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his lips. «What’s on your mind?» she wondered out loud.

Rhys opened his eyes then, and looked at her. «A thought for thought?» he suggested. She smiled at the reminder of the little game they used to play when they were younger. «I can begin,» he continued.

He looked towards the horizon again, taking a deep breath. «I’m thinking that when I walked into the club tonight, I was so happy to see you, because you were so happy. You were dancing and laughing and I thought that finally we had gotten our Feyre back. After you left for Boston, and after you met him, it was as if you disappeared.» Feyre tried to swallow the lump in her throat. He sounded wounded, almost. Did he really care about her that much?

«You visited, of course, but it was like a stranger had replaced you. You were a shell of who you once used to be. You stopped laughing, stopped making inappropriate jokes, and I missed you. God, I missed you so much.» Feyre felt like she might cry at his words, but she didn’t. All she did was stare ahead, and take his hand. She squeezed it, encouraging him to continue. He squeezed back.

«As I said, when I saw you tonight, I was sure we had gotten the old Feyre back. Mor told me what had happened in Boston - why you were back - and I was sure that everything would return to normal between us.» He took a break, clearly anxious of saying what was next.

«But everything isn’t back to normal. Something has changed. I can feel it, and I think you can too.» He looked at her now, that intense longing once again in his eyes. She met his gaze, and suddenly felt brave enough to say:

«I can feel the change too, yes, but I think it’s a good change.» Then she leaned in, and kissed him.

Rhys went completely still at first, and Feyre was afraid that she had misunderstood their conversation. Then he seemed to realize what was happening. He put one arm around her waist, the other tangling in her hair, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

His lips tasted salty, she thought, but sweet at the same time. She could get drunk on him alone. Feyre was breathless, and dizzy, but she decided this was the best feeling in the world.

She was kissing Rhys.

He pressed his tongue against her lips, and she opened up for him, moaning at the sensation. She put her hands in his hair, slightly pulling at it. The silky strands feeling soft in her fingers.

Kissing Rhys was everything, but at the same time it was not enough. She needed more. Needed to be closer, needed to feel more of him. She pulled away slightly, breathless, heart thundering, blood rushing in her ears. Rhys looked at her, just as breathless, a hungry gleam in his eyes. «How far is it to your place?» He only smirked in answer.

Rhys stood up, picking Feyre up with him. She laughed as he almost dropped her, then she wrapped her legs around his waist. He didn’t walk far before they reached a small house. Rhys put her down, pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the door.

Feyre marveled at the place as they stepped inside. It was small, but it was stunning. Large glass windows facing the ocean, green plants covering every available surface, and several over-filled bookshelves. She turned to look at Rhys, who had stopped in the doorway, staring at her taking in his place, surprise clearly written on her face. She took a step towards him. Then another. And another, until their mouths crashed together again.

Rhys moved his lips over her jaw, down her throat, her neck. Feyre moaned, struggling to get his shirt off fast enough, both minds clouded with lust and the haste to be as close together as possible. Skin to skin.

She finally managed to open the last button, pulling off the fabric. Feyre took in his muscled, tan chest and the many tattoos covering it. She leaned forward, and pressed her lips to the spot right above his heart. She could feel it hammering beneath his skin. She moved upwards, ghosting them over his collarbone, his neck, his throat, his jawline, then finally his lip.

Rhys grabbed her face, kissing her with such an intensity it made her dizzy. She was about to start fumbling with his belt when Rhys pulled away. «Are you sure you want this?» he asked, all out of breath, voice cracking, and Feyre would have thought his consideration and worry to be cute, had she not been so desperate to press her naked body against his. So she only nodded, and stepped back to pull her dress over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

That seemed to be the end of Rhys' restraint. He took a step towards her, grabbed her under her thighs, and hoisted her up so she was sitting with her legs around his waist. Feyre moaned at the feeling of him pressing against her, hard and ready, and she felt a warm throbbing between her own legs.

Feyre let out a breathy «why the hell do you still have pants on?» that made Rhys chuckle. She felt the sound moving through his whole body. He walked across the room, laid her down on the bed and quickly got rid of his pants. Feyre almost drooled at the sight of his large cock. She reached out a hand and stroked him through the thin fabric of his boxers. Rhys groaned at the feeling, and leaned over her, placing his mouth on one of her nipples.

It felt exquisite. Rhys, his wandering hands, her body tingling with sensation, his hot mouth on her skin. She needed more, more, more. Feyre pulled his cock free, and he kicked of his underwear. One of his hands reached the band of her own panties, a finger dipping into her core, then slowly circling her clit.

It was too much and not enough and she needed more. Rhys slid off her underwear, and all of a sudden there was nothing between them. «Do you have a condom?» Feyre didn’t know how she managed to form words at this point, but he reached behind her and grabbed one. Feyre took it and rolled it on him, while his mouth explored every inch of her breasts, and his hand slowly stroked the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

Feyre needed him inside her, now. She lined his cock up with her entrance, then she looked him in the eyes. He took her hint, slowly, oh so slowly, pushing himself in, not breaking eye contact.

Feyre moaned at the feeling of him filling her, widening her. He was thick and warm and it felt amazing. She pulled his mouth to hers, and he pressed his tongue inside her, filling her in two places. He pulled out slightly, then pushed in to the hilt this time. Rhys groaned at the sensation, his hand still drawing circles over her clit.

It felt so good, she was seeing stars. The wave inside her rising and rising with no end as Rhys picked up his pace, slamming to the hilt and hitting that magic spot every. damn. time.

Words like more or faster or deeper filled the warm air around them. Rhys buried his head between her shoulder and neck, moaning her name. Feyre felt her pussy clench around him, nearing that sweet, sweet edge. «Rhys, I need to…»

He seemed to understand what she meant, because he went even faster, fingers pressing down against her clit, and fuck it felt so good! His eyes met her eyes, his forehead pressed against her forehead, and she felt his words as a breath against her lips. «Come, Feyre.»

Those words pushed her over the edge immediately, wave crashing over her like nothing ever had before. It lasted a lifetime. That sweet, unending pleasure. She clenched around him again and again, until he started losing control, losing rhythm, and at last he came with her, groaning.

When it was over, the world around them went quiet. The sun was shining through the curtains, a new day beginning, Rhys collapsed on top of Feyre, stroking her disheveled hair away from her face. «That was…» she didn’t know how to end that sentence. She wanted to stay here with him forever. Just the two of them. Skin to skin.

Rhys looked at her, amusement coloring his face. «Intense?» he suggested. Feyre chuckled, tapping her fingers against his chest. He pulled out, turned on his back, taking her with him, so that she lay on his chest, ear placed right over his heart.

«I was gonna go with best sex of my life, but intense works too I guess.» He laughed at that. A warm, loud laughter that she could feel in her whole body. He kissed the top of her head, and pulled a blanked over them.

As Feyre lay there, feeling Rhys draw slow circles on her back, listening to the waves, letting the steady beat of his heart and the sound of his even breaths lull her to sleep, she knew that nothing would ever be the same after this night. She felt almost electric with excitement over what the rest of the summer would bring. One thing she was sure of, Rhys would be part of it.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Requiem (part one)

[Spiritfarer AU]

Note: The spirits are anthropomorphic. So their forms are on two legs and are humanoid, they’re not actually four-legged animals.

Word count: 1938

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

-Lost and Found-

The night was finally calm, the Spiritfarer weary from a long day worth of intense afterlife business. Nobody ever said becoming the next sailor for the dead was going to be easy, after all. 

The water lapped quietly at the sides of the ship. The huge expanse of the ocean that stretched out in every direction was glittering black, reflecting the twinkle of silver stars overhead. The moon was out and glowed brightly, illuminating the path to a large island in the near distance.

Her legs ached to be on earth again. It’s felt like forever since she walked on solid ground, which was strange. How long had it been exactly? She couldn’t remember much aside from waking up that morning in that small boat with the cat, in front of that giant portal... 

The Spiritfarer leaned back until her spine rested against the back wall of her cabin, the rough wood chafing her skin underneath her salt-eaten white gown. She watched the stars, the countless lamps lighting the world beyond. She spotted a mythical ship in the sky, sailing along the river of the ethereal gods.

  “Ah, there you are,” 

The voice was smooth like molten honey and tickled her ears in just the right way to send shivers down her spine. The Spiritfarer sat up, stretching sore spots along her back, and looked down at her first passenger.

Catherine of Aragon, the former queen of England, was a sight for sore eyes. In her spiritual body, she took the form of an elegant maned lioness. Sleek chocolate brown fur with a caramel underbelly and snout blaze, and a golden mane that swayed in the sea breeze. The spiky crown she wore was a sign of her former status as a ruler.

  “I was wondering where you went,” Aragon said, climbing up onto the ledge. 

  “I thought you were asleep already,” Joan said, moving over so the spirit could sit next to her. The fluffy black cat in her lap, John, blinked up at her, then flopped back over.

  “Not yet,” Aragon said. She sat crisscross, curling her tail in close to her. Her eyes were seemingly the only thing that she retained from her former self- they were dark brown, almost black, and they glittered in the moonlight. “Are you nervous?”

  “Nervous?” Joan echoed.

  “You got a big day ahead of you,” Aragon clarified. “A lot of big days, actually. Being a Spiritfarer is tough work, I’ve heard. You’ll be dealing with a lot.”

  “...Like?”

  “Several spirits, for one,” Aragon said. “But you’ll also have to help us cope with our deaths and fulfill our final wishes and demands and settle any quarrels before we can pass on…” She turned her head to look at Joan and smiled. “It’s a lot.”

Joan paled. “Oh…”

Aragon chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, though,” She said. “You seem like a smart kid. I think you can do it.”

  “Really?”

  “I mean, you were chosen for a reason, weren’t you?” Aragon stood up and stretched. “We’ll have to find some more spirits tomorrow. Oh, and just a heads up: You may want to look the part a little bit more.”

------

  “Okay, when I said ‘look the part’, this isn’t what I meant.” 

Joan blinked down at the sunflower yellow shirt and light blue overalls she was wearing. “What do you mean?”

  “You look like a farmer,” Aragon said. “Not a Spiritfarer.”

Joan gave the lioness a wounded expression. “I think I look perfectly professional!”

Aragon snorted lightly. “If you say so.”

The two of them cross over a stone bridge that was swathed by big red flowers and entered fully into the island village. The smell of baking bread and cooking meat wove through the streets, and Joan could hear the tink-tink of small hammers, the clattering of mugs, and the light echo of voices calling from inside houses. Some kind of stringed instrument greeted the sunrise with musical scales and half-played melodies.

  “So, what exactly are we looking for?” Joan asked. She had to look up at Aragon, as the spirit was much taller than she was.

  “Other spirits, of course,” Aragon answered. She quirked an eyebrow down at Joan. “Have you already forgotten your task?”

  “N-no!” Joan squeaked. “I’m just...making sure YOU know what we’re doing!”

  “Ah,” Aragon nodded wisely. “I see.”

They continued their trek into the village, stopping every once and awhile to check out different shops. It was then, at a stall selling vegetable seeds, Joan felt eyes burning into her back. She whipped around to see a shadow bounding towards her.

  “It’s so good to see you! I’ve been counting the days until you finally came. Though, I didn’t expect to see YOU of all people. Did you miss me at all?”

The familiar voice poured into Joan’s mind like a cup of cool water.

The spirit was clad in emerald green robes, shadowing its featureless face, aside from its big white eyes, which glowed even in the sunlight. Green smoke wreathed from its body, dissipating into the air around it. Nothing about it screamed ‘former queen Anne Boleyn’ but Joan knew this was her, and not just because of the voice.

  “Oh, Catalina! It’s so good to see you, too! It’s been a long time!” Anne babbled on, turning to the lioness, who had her snout wrinkled in distaste for the green spirit.

  “Hello, Anne.” Aragon said bitterly. “I’ve been really good after you usurped me.”

  “Oh, I bet!” Anne laughed, dismissing the comment and making Aragon growl lowly in her throat. “I got beheaded, so I think we’re even.”

Joan peered at the spirit. Despite her jolly tone, she has tight, tense shoulders, head slightly pulling back, like she’s anticipating a threat of some kind. Something doesn’t add up.

Seeing each other again should be a happy occasion--yet something has Anne stressed out. Joan suspected she would find out the longer she got to know Anne on her journey as a Spiritfarer.

  “Overall, I would say…I am content enough here.” Anne began. “It was weird waking up here and looking like THIS,” She held up her shadowy hands, “but I got used to it. It’s a nice village. They got some really good food here! The worst thing about it is probably Jane’s tantrums, and even then she’s usually avoiding me. Oh, but another lady is here, too! Anna, I think her name is? Or maybe it was just Anne and I heard it as Anna because I want to be the only Anne…”

Joan perked up a little. “Did you say Jane?” She asked. “As in, Jane Seymour?”

  “As in, that wench is super whiny and spoiled. So, yes.” Anne tittered.

  “What does she throw these ‘tantrums’ about?” Joan asked.

  “I’m gonna guess it has to do with being on the same island as her.” Aragon glared at Anne, who blithely ignored it.

Anne shakes her head. “She yells about ‘not being able to do her life’s work,’ and it’s been getting worse. She’s been like this for the last six months or so.”

Speak of the devil, a distant sound cut through the air--violent and thunderous. It grew louder, like bomb blasts in rapid succession, until a piercing silver light beamed through the area.

The light came from a spirit, which was as shadowy as Anne, but was slightly bigger and wore glowing silver robes. The smoke puffing off of her body could have possibly been coming from her nostrils and mouth and ears, which weren’t even present on her features, because she was practically shaking with rage.

  “Where is the Spiritfarer?” She screamed at no one in particular. Even with just blank white eyes on her black face, her fury was clear.

Anne turned to Joan and coughed daintily.

Joan craned her neck to look up at the spirit. She seethed with anger.

  “I have been waiting for the Spiritfarer for almost a full year and I cannot wait any longer!!” The spirit bellowed on. “This place is a hellhole--a prison! I’d rather be completely dead than have to spend any longer on this island!!”

A few other spirits, normal ones that didn’t need Joan’s aid, turned to stare, but looked away quickly when they realized exactly who was making a scene. It seemed this was a normal affair for the village.

  “Nobody listens to me! I can’t wait another year--you have to get me out of here!”

  “Okay, okay!” Joan said. “Calm down! That’s why I’m here!”

Jane’s tantrum halted. She gazed down at Joan, blinking.

  “You...are the Spiritfarer?” She asked.

  “Yes, I am,” Joan answered. “My name is Joan.”

  “I know who you are.” Jane said. “You just--weren’t what I was expecting.” She tilted her head. “You are very young.”

Joan ruffled. “I’m sixteen. That’s the age I was when I started working in the palace. It’s not that young.”

Jane has calmed completely, now. “I see.” She cleared her throat. “Well. I am ready to leave this horrid place. Please, take me to the ship.”

Joan looked up at Aragon, who nodded. “Let’s go then!” Upon arriving at the docks, where they would take the dinghy to get to the main ship, a red-robed spirit was waiting patiently for them. She introduced herself as Anna of Cleves while Joan was rowing back to the ship.

  “Not quite what I was expecting,” Jane said, looking around. “But I’ll take it.”

  “Good, because you don’t have a choice,” Aragon said. She climbed up onto the roof of the kitchen to watch. 

  “I like it.” Cleves said. “If that means anything.”

  “It does,” Joan smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

  “Well, I’m ready to get out of this body!” Anne declared. She ran to the front of the ship and spread her arms wide. White light began to envelope her body, whisking away the robes and setting free the form that lay beneath the shadows.

Sunlight glinted off emerald green scales. Spines bristled upwards towards the clear blue sky. A powerful tail swished behind feet that were hooked with razor sharp talons. Too-human brown eyes for an iguana blinked at them all.

  “Haha!” Anne cheered, throwing her arms up. “Finally! /This/ is much better. Even better than my human body! Look at this, I got a tail!”

  “So do I,” Aragon called. “You aren’t special.”

  “Hphm.” Jane huffed. “You’re just a lizard.”

  “And what are you, your majesty?” Anne teased.

Jane glared at Anne, then allowed her body to change shape. It was swarmed with light, as did Anne’s, but she was left with a blanket of pure white fur, a bushy tail, steel grey eyes, and large, branching antlers.

  “Voila,” The white stag bowed. “There you go.”

  “Oooo,” Anne cooed in interest. “Pretty good! What about you, Anna?”

The red spirit shrugged and reverted into her full form, which turned out to be a huge grizzly bear. She stretched out her thickly muscled arms, then shook out her shaggy brown fur.

  “Woah,” Anne said. “You are very big.”

  “Thanks?” Cleves laughed.

Joan watched them all begin to chat, luckily without an argument breaking out instantly. After she was assured that the conversation was tame, she walked into her cabin, where the map projector sat. She used it and the Everlight, the golden orb on her belt, to control the entire ship, though she was still working out all the mechanics. She opened up the map as John hopped up onto her shoulder.

Four down, five more to go.

  “TOUCH MY ANTLERS AGAIN, BOLEYN, AND I WILL BUCK YOU OFF THIS SHIP RIGHT NOW!!!”

Joan sucked in a breath. “This is going to be a long journey.”

[nebula-starlight]

Sepsis (Pt. 14: Wellbeing)

“You okay Versi?” One of the healers also taking a break about the same time as her glanced at the shaking spirit with concern. 

She immediately passed off the question, ignoring the one who had asked it and gathered her meager strength to push herself off of the wall she’d been leaning against. Just as she told herself before she had come into work, everything was fine. She was fine. There was nothing wrong with her. No cause for alarm at the fact that she simply hadn’t been able to keep food down for a couple days and Nethreis was off doing some unknown work for The Council or, to be more accurate, for Magnus.

Realizing she still had to give some sort of answer to at least make the staring go away, Versi cleared her throat with a dry cough and nodded. “I’m fine. Just not hungry.” 

“It’s all that work with those Corrupt beasts huh? Working yourself to exhaustion over trying to cure something that’s gotten so mixed up in their very fibers that it can’t just be purged with a skillful little light burst.” One of the other, older healers commented, watching the two from across the room. 

“Shut it, Helese. Can’t you be concerned over someone else’s wellbeing for once in your life?” 

“Ladies….” Versi weakly protested, hearing the voices as if she was underwater or in another room completely. She blinked, trying her best to stay upright and focused when all she really wanted to do was go and curl up and sleep. 

“Versi honestly I’d go get checked out. You look pale, sweetie. And you can’t help anyone if you don’t help yourself first.” 

Again she ignored the assistance, staggering away from the wall and heading for the door. She needed to get back to work. That would put her mind off the feeling of the walls spinning and closing in on her. Everything was fine. She was fine. It was just a minor headache and stomach problems. She told herself if it got any worse that she’d go to her supervisors and ask to be dismissed early on account of feeling unwell… though then there would be one less healer to deal with the sudden influx of sickly patients who needed care. 

“Versi!” 

Why was she suddenly on the floor looking up into the distressed eyes of a trio of healers, two of which she had just seen in the break room of their medical wing? There was… something wrong with their shadows, wasn’t there? Too elongated and sharp and focused on… 

She shrieked, thrashing as a fellow healer struggled to bind her wings to her body as she writhed and twisted frantically. Why was it feeling like searing heat was being pressed onto her from all points of availability? Where was Nethreis? Why wasn’t he with her? What was going on? It was so bright… so painfully bright. That wasn’t the sun was it? No it couldn’t be the sun. They were indoors after all. Kept locked away from all others just to ensure they could perform at the peak of health at a moment’s notice. 

“Miss Versila, please. Calm down and answer just a few simple questions. We just need-” 

The poor newly registered doctor, who she hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, was quickly silenced from further questioning her as she headbutted him in her panicked attempt to get herself free of the restraints that just kept coming and kept getting tighter and constricting her airways. She couldn’t breathe… Each breath got stuck and she was trembling and shivering and begging the others to know where her mate was because he wasn’t there with her and she wanted him there. 

At what point she started coughing up bile she wasn’t sure but that only made the headache worse and more healers kept coming in to try to talk to her and understand what was going on. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? She just wanted to be left alone. If they stopped questioning her maybe she wouldn’t be in such a state of blind panic that nothing made sense and words didn’t seem like words. 

“That’s quite enough for today. Let her rest.” The deep, yet sauve voice washed over the room and immediately all the noise and chatter and buzzing around her ceased as each surrounding her stepped back respectfully. 

Versi eagerly looked up with bleary eyes but instead of finding the beloved crimson irises of her lover, it was the head of The Council instead who greeted her anxiously searching gaze. She struggled to properly scowl at him, the once moderately tame headache now pounding through her skull and the other occupant in her head strangely quiet for surprisingly the first time in quite a while outside of interactions with Nethreis. 

“You,” she hissed, eyes flickering briefly with a faint greenish haze that nearly went unnoticed by the Councilmember. “Why are you here?” 

“Can I not frequent a place we have sought to cultivate? Furthermore, it is a crime to check in on those that are… special to certain ones in our collective group?” He approached the bed as Versi only now realized she was currently laying on her back in the same type of bedding as those used for the patients they normally saw as healers. The rest of the assembled group of now curious onlookers dispersed as Magnus continued, “And please do something about the uninvited guest listening in on us. It is rather rude of them I must say.” 

“How do you-?” 

He smiled, intimidating her with the intensely focused gaze on her whole being. “I’m aware of many dangers which plague our lands, most of which seem to revolve around you and that dear love of yours. Shame truly that he is so good at his job of being the Shield that the Capital needed.” 

“You seem to know quite a lot about my mate, Monsieur.” She returned the glare with one of her own, finally hearing the other growl deep in her skull. Not that it helped the headache that continued to persist or the sudden apathy that seemed to wrap its way around her limbs. 

“I have been meeting with him, yes. And now I’ve come to seek you out. You poor, miserable little creature who clings to his wings like an empathic leech. But I can help you, fix you even. I just need you to trust me.” He held out a clawed forepaw to her as though presenting his hand. “Because the task I have for you is one of great importance. You would usher in a new age of powerful spirits alongside the Shield.” 

“My beloved is not just some object!” She growled, trying to move and ultimately wincing in pain and curling up on herself as best she could. Her eyes flickered green once more but just as soon returned to being the warm yellow they usually were. 

“To me he is. Just like you are. Even being tainted doesn’t save you. Now just look into my eyes, deep into them if you will. I promise all your pain will fade away like it never even happened. In my domain, there is no suffering, Versila. And you have suffered much, my dear. Allow me to ease that strain… To bring you great joy unlike anything you have ever experienced before.” 

She tried to ignore the urge to comply with his request but found she couldn’t, her gaze fixing on his as the red serpentine eyes glowed. After a few seconds of the extended look, they seemed to shift and turn a bright fluorescent green that sent a shiver of dread down her spine but also left her feeling strangely comforted. Versi felt herself relax, the tension fading from her body except for a small spot near her abdomen. 

“Wake my agent of chaos. For the time draws nigh for the final test and you the ultimate chess piece.”

[masalvas-girl]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝘿𝙖𝙮 (𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙄𝙄𝙄)

You can read part 1 here and part 2 here. Hope you like this! Tell me if you want a fourth part please. 

➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹

𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂 𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂, 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓭𝓪𝔂

     It was a rainy night. Juliet could hear the gentle whisper of rain hitting the window. Carlos was lying down awake beside her, and oh god, she was exhausted. Juliet was looking at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts, when she felt his hand caress her right naked thigh. She turned to see him and moved a little bit towards him, just to rest her head and part of her chest on his. Hearing the smooth beat of his heart was her favorite thing to do after, well, after having a long session of cardio with him. Carlos had always been a very generous lover, and that night was no exception. He fucked her like no one else had before.

     —I love you. Did you know that? —the sound of his serene voice and the rain mixed together like a song. These were the moments she loved the most, when they shared their intimacy without any external pressures or awkward interruptions. Sometimes, it seemed like his boss and work mates adored ruining certain moments.    

     —I was just starting to suspect it —he rolled his eyes even though they weren´t looking at eachother and laughed. Juliet laughed too, and started playing with his chest hair, which was located on his well-defined pectoral area, and also on the inferior part of his bellybutton, a.k.a ¨happy trail¨. Juliet loved it. A fine coat of sweat covered his skin making it glisten under the light of that old yellow bulb. She couldn´t be more in love—. Joking! You know I love you too… a lot —she turned her head and looked intensely at his dark eyes while she lowered her hand slowly, touching every part his body which looked like it belonged to a Greek God. All the time he had spent away exercising really paid off well.

      —God, you never get tired, do you? My little love-machine, you never let me rest —he placed a kiss on her lips that got more intense with every passing second. Carlos loved kissing her soft cherry-red lips, and she never complained about it. The young woman sat on him, just above his lower abdomen, and tied her long wavy dark hair on a high pigtail.          

     —It´s your fault for being so damn handsome —she whispered to his ear and that was the final trigger for Carlos. He started tracing wet kisses all over her jaw, neck and collarbones. Little moans escaped her parted lips, and he nibbled against her hot skin.

    —I should go grab a condom before this gets worse, I left 'em in the bathroom —Juliet let out a quick chuckle, hearing the despair in his voice was a weird form of compliment. She got off Carlos and he got up quickly. The sight of his body only covered in a pair of black boxers was so delightful that she didn´t mind the interruption it represented.

     Everything was perfect and normal as usual, until he suddenly stopped and took a step back. Carlos´ hands started trembling and he staggered. He turned around to see Juliet from the foot of the bed. At first she thought he was joking, but out of the blue he coughed up a serious amount of blood. His skin started turning to a grey, dead-like color. He let himself drop violently to his knees, and Juliet got out of bed and ran towards him.

     —Carlos! What the fuck is going on?! —she repeated his name over and over again, but he didn´t seem to listen. He was now starting to look like a decayed corpse, and Juliet felt a paralyzing horror pumping through her veins. She touched his back, and he raised his head in her direction aggressively. His eyes appeared to be blind and with the animal snarl he gave, she noticed that now Carlos had really sharp teeth. Juliet´s legs failed her and she fell suddenly on her backside. He began crawling slowly towards her.

     —Take my gun —he said with difficulty between painful groans, as if he was fighting something inside him—… End this, please…

     Juliet reached frantically under the bed; she could feel her heartbeat rumbling in her ears and her body was turning cold with adrenaline. He was getting closer and when she thought it was too late, the feel of cold steel greeted her hand and she took it out. It was Carlos´ Pistol G18. She pointed it at him, grabbing the gun with both her trembling hands because of its weight, and from his left eye, a slow tear came out. She couldn´t do it. She lowered the gun, giving up all type of self-defense, and he jumped straight to her, losing any sense of humanity. She was incapable of shooting the man she loved.

     Everything turned black.

      𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰...                 

     She woke up with a violent jolt the moment Carlos jumped up at her. It was just another stupid nightmare. Why did she keep dreaming about him though? Oh, of course… She missed him like hell, and those dreams that turned into nightmares were no strange to her anymore. Juliet felt heaviness inside of her every time she thought about him, and she was sick of having those dreams. She covered her face with her hands; trying to shake up the sensation that awful nightmare had given her.  

     She removed her hands and held them in the air in front of her face for a little bit. They were shaking just like in her dream, and she had some cuts in her palms that she didn´t remember. Juliet couldn´t tell whether it was day or night because of where she was. That fucking closet that was so small she barely fitted in it, but now, it was the safest place. Or at least that´s what she told herself. She stretched and turned on the light without having to stand up. The lights blinded her, and she squeezed her eyes. Once they got accustomed to the light, she took her vision to her leg. The little pool of blood was still there, but at least her leg wasn´t bleeding anymore. When she took away the fabric piece she had cut from an old t-shirt to serve as a bandage, she was able to inspect the damage that was done in her calf.

     The laceration had to be at least 2.75 inches long and it didn’t look too wide, but it had to get medical examination, which seemed a little impossible in the middle of fucking apocalypse. Juliet took that same t-shirt she had made the first bandage with, and repeated the process... Tying up that motherfucker was seriously painful, but it stopped the bleeding successfully. She had to bite down on the rest of the t-shirt that was left, and the woman frowned hard when the piece of fabric adhered to her open wound.   

     She lied down again on the hard ground, with her mind drifting away from reality. What was the point of going on? Her family was possibly dead already, and Carlos was way long gone. She closed her eyes, mentally and physically tired, but she was afraid of falling asleep and having another one of those dreams. Tears started flowing without control from her eyes. Why didn´t she warn everyone when she had the chance? She was scared of looking completely nuts to everybody like she did to Carlos. Now all of those deaths fell upon her shoulders. And she wasn’t strong enough to carry that weight.  

     Juliet looked at her right and she saw that her combat knife and Desert Eagle were still there. Daddy had taught her well on how to defend herself, and she proved it when Mrs. Jones had pounced on her, almost taking a big bite from her neck. Poor thing, ended up with her brains blown out. And Juliet still couldn´t process it. It felt like she was in one of her twisted nightmares, but no, sadly, that was Raccoon City´s reality. All thanks to Umbrella. Fuckers.

     She was starting to fall asleep again when she heard some distant noises inside her apartment, silent steps. Juliet opened her eyes wide, and her heart skipped a beat. She made sure she closed all the doors and the windows. Perhaps they were capable of opening doors too? If they were, it seemed that the smell of blood really attracted those monsters... 

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .   .   .    .

    It didn’t take long for Carlos to reach the building of apartments were Juliet used to live. So many thoughts and memories came to his mind when he located the phone booth which was at the counter corner of the building. Some months ago he would dial up Juliet´s phone number from that phone booth and look at her window just in case she peeked a look to the street. But that never happened. Now, that window was dark and it looked sinister and empty. The whole city looked like that. Dead.

    Entering the place wasn’t that complicated. The doors weren´t locked and all the zombies that had been wandering inside had already been killed, but he was still careful with every movement he made. Carlos took the elevator to the floor number five, and when he arrived he saw what was left of Juliet´s favorite neighbor resting against a wall. He felt nauseous, as he had known that old lady very well, and now he had seen her with her head blown off. The whole place was a bloodbath, and still, no sign of Juliet. He reached her door, which was locked with key. Luckily, he had his lock pick at a hand's reach. Carlos was skilled and it took him no time to open the white door.

      Inside, everything was just how he remembered it. The arrangements of furniture, the color of the walls, even the fucking hole in the wall of the hall he had made once by accident. The only thing that was missing was her. He took a step to get in, and instantly noticed he had stepped on something sticky. The dark-haired man lowered his head to check what it was, and he realized it was coagulated blood. Carlos started to get worried. What if she had been infected and now was walking around the apartment in the form of a cannibal zombie perfectly capable of hurting him? Or even worst, what if she was still in the process of converting? Carlos knew the virus could be awfully slow. He knew that if he found Juliet like that it would be so horribly painful and traumatic having to kill her. He even doubted he had the balls to do such thing. But it was too late, and he couldn’t leave just like that. Carlos tried to keep the hopes up of finding her alive and well.

        He followed the dark trace of blood that led him to her bedroom, and then, to her closet. He could taste the iron in his own mouth. He reached for the door knob, and twisted it ever so slowly. Once it was completely open, he swung the door open quickly. Carlos found her curled up in the farest corner of the small closet, pointing her gun with unstable hands at him. When they recognized eachother, they let out a loud relieve sigh at the same time. She dropped both her hands at her sides, and her face softened up. It looked like she had been crying. Juliet got up and walked the short distance that separated them. He noticed that the girl had a limp and an improvised bandage around her right calf. That could explain all the blood. Was it a bite?

     —Carlos! My God, you are alive! —She held him tight between her arms, so much that she almost choked him, and he never thought a simple embrace could feel so comforting.

     —Of course I am alive! I had to come and get you out of here —he left his gun drop to the ground and held her just as tight around her waist.

     —I told you to never come back —she stepped away after a long time of hugging, she started cleaning the tears of relief away from her face. He remembered how Juliet didn´t like it when people saw her crying. Not even in the middle of an apocalypse.

     —You know I'm real stubborn, honey.     

[crimes-and-gelato]

Title: Never Empty of You Pairing: Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian Rating: Teen Audiences Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029869 Summary: Taking his tray of coffee and plate of sandwich, he searches for a place to eat his meal while he waits for his shijie, Jiang Yanli. That’s when he sees him. The guy he’d manage to get acquainted with for the last few days they’ve accidentally run into each other in the café. Lan Zhan. Fortunately, Wei Wuxian remembers his name. or the one where Wei Wuxian has been cursed **

**

‘I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you everyday.’

-Lemony Snicket

**

**

The café is bustling with people for their brunch on an early Sunday afternoon. And Wei Wuxian should have expected this since it’s the weekend — and he forgot somehow — but still he can’t help but be put out about it since he favours this café so much. Not just because he often gets free cookies from his barista friend, Wen Nings.

All of the tables are taken, especially the ones on the outside since it’s one sunny Spring Day and everyone seems to want a patch of sunlight after the heavy pouring earlier last week. To be honest, he’s quite tired of the rainy weather as well. Water ghouls and ghosts are the most exhausting things to fight. Slippery little shits.

Not to mention the frigid condition they have to work with. It’s hard to move in wet clothes and how the cold somehow clings much closer to your skin, seeps deep into your bones. He’s not looking forward to more night huntings in this rainy season. But someone needs to accompany Jiang Cheng, his little brother.

Taking his tray of coffee and plate of sandwich, he searches for a place to eat his meal while he waits for his shijie, Jiang Yanli. That’s when he sees him. The guy he’d manage to get acquainted with for the last few days they’ve accidentally run into each other in the café. Lan Zhan. Fortunately, Wei Wuxian remembers his name.

He plasters a smile, feeling lucky that he won’t have to wait for so long for a table to clear up and heads to the other man’s table. It’s a four seater table, but somehow no one had asked to sit with Lan Zhan. He guesses it’s because the man looks frigid to most people: golden eyes all sharp, stony beautiful features, lips on a constant thin line. Wei Wuxian has nothing bad to say about him, except that he’s ridiculously cool which is a great envy.

Plus, when Wei Wuxian didn’t have a cable to charge his phone, Lan Zhan graciously offered his own cable. You really cannot judge a person by their exterior. Since then they’ve exchanged a few greetings here and there, they’ve managed to introduced themselves to each other, talk a bit about the weather sometimes, mentions their families and their jobs but not in details, just little informations; so you can’t really call it friendship, even when he somehow wants to.

‘Lan Zhan,’ he greets, grin all too big on his face, he knows, but he can’t help it. He feels calm around this man despite everything shit that’s happening in his life right now.

Lan Zhan looks startled to see him, putting down the scroll he’s reading.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t even comment on the scroll because who the fuck in their era would read a scroll? But of course, Lan Zhan does because he’s old school like that; he’s a historian, for crying out loud.

Sometimes, he wonders if Lan Zhan believes in the supernatural since there are lots of history books about them. The West has their stories of witches, whom they burned at the stake; there are records about monsters in other countries as well. But that’s not really the best topic opener, right? How weird will that make him seem.

‘Do you mind?’ He gestures to the empty seat. ‘There are more people today and —’

‘Go ahead,’ Lan Zhan replies immediately, cutting him off. He quickly fixes his scroll to make room for Wei Wuxian’s things on the table. In his hasten, he almost knocks his coffee cup over.

It’s the first time Wei Wuxian see him get flustered. He kind of feels bad about it now. Maybe Lan Zhan is not used in sharing table with people he’s not close with.

‘Uhm… You can tell me if this is making you uncomfortable,’ he assures him, ignoring the sad twitch in his chest. ‘I’m sure a table will clear up in a few minutes.’

‘No.’ For a second Wei Wuxian thinks Lan Zhan’s about to reach out to him, hold him in place to stay. ‘I mean,’ Lan Zhan clears his throat, ‘this is okay.’ He stares at Wei Wuxian with conviction. ‘I don’t mind. Not at all.’

‘Thanks,’ he replies, putting his drink and food on the table and taking the seat opposite to Lan Zhan. ‘I’m suppose to meet my sister but couldn’t remember what time she said it will be. I guess I got here earlier than our arranged time, and I have also forgotten my phone.’ He laughs deprecatingly. ‘I forgot a lot of things these days. And today seems to just be my most unlucky day.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Lan Zhan says sincerely, almost pained like he’s the one going through Wei Wuxian’s day.

He places the smile back on his face, uncomfortable seeing the other man upset on his behalf. It just doesn’t sit well with him, no one should make Lan Zhan unhappy. Ever.

‘Thanks. But it’s okay.’ He shrugs. ‘Things just happen sometimes. It’s no one’s fault. Although, people did say I was born under unlucky stars, which explains all the series of unfortunate events in my life.’ He sips from his cup. ‘But I think, everyone makes their own fate in the world, right? That’s why we have this life. It’s up to us how we live it.’

He really should stop talking like some cryptic fellow. Not that there’s anything normal about him since he hunts monsters and ghosts for a living. Who knew the supernatural phenomena in the modern world doesn’t cease with the course of time?

‘Mn.’ Lan Zhan nods, staring with those earnest golden eyes.

‘I’m sorry for disturbing you with my nonsense.’ He smiles, face slightly heating up on his sudden outburst. There’s just something about Lan Zhan’s gaze that gets under his skin. Not in a bad way, but in a good way which somehow is more worse.

‘I don’t mind.’ The Historian smiles, small but soft.

Wei Wuxian almost chokes on the piece of sandwich he’s chewing. It’s clearly unfair for Lan Zhan to be this attractive and to have him throw around smiles like those. It’s not safe for anyone’s well-being. He clears his throat and takes another sip of his coffee, looking at everywhere except meeting Lan Zhan’s ardent’s gaze.

Being known as someone who’s shameless, it’s the first time for Wei Wuxian to feel this unsettled around someone. It’s usually the other way around. He takes another bite of his sandwich, surreptitiously peering at the man over his lashes in some hope for answers as to why Lan Zhan has this effect on him.

‘You’re married,’ he says, surprise by the silver band on the man’s fourth left finger, but more importantly, shock with the dejection lacing in his voice. If Lan Zhan notices, the man doesn’t show, only traces the ring with his other hand.

‘Yes,’ Lan Zhan answers, elated but there’s a hint of misery he tries to hide. His golden eyes pierces into Wei Wuxian’s for a second before he avoids his gaze like he’s afraid of being read. ‘Loving him was the best choice I’ve made… Not that I can fix the time I’ve decided to, or which part of him made me fall so completely that I was already in the middle before I knew that I had started.’

A tight grip wraps itself around Wei Wuxian’s heart at the sudden confession. He didn’t expect it, let alone be the receiving end of them with Lan Zhan’s full attention on him: intense and warm at the same time. It’s like looking at the sun and not knowing whether to look away or bask in its heat.

There’s a lump on his throat that resembles envy, or it’s probably an evolve longing that had been sitting in his chest for some time now. Nevertheless, he pushes it all aside and plasters a smile.

‘That sounds very romantic.’ He clears his throat again to get rid of the unwanted obstruction in his windpipe. It’s probably a rouge sandwich piece that he almost choke on a while ago. ‘What a lucky guy.’ He sips his coffee again so he doesn’t add anything absurd like: I envy him.

Another trace of that small, soft smile paints Lan Zhan’s lips again. And Wei Wuxian aches to taste it, but he can’t; reminds himself that he’s better than that.

‘I’m the lucky one,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘And maybe that’s the reason why this is my burden to carry.’

Wei Wuxian wants to ask what the man meant, but Wen Ning arrives with a slice of Sriracha Sweet Milk Chocolate Tart. The barista smiles at the both of them.

‘I didn’t order that,’ he tells his friend, knowing Wen Ning’s probably saved him a sliced of his favourite dessert when their chef makes it.

‘Oh no, Wangji-ge actually ordered this one,’ Wen Ning informs. ‘This is the last slice actually.’ The younger man looks abashed. ‘I forgot to save some for you. It’s quite popular these days.’

‘No, it’s ok—’

‘You can have mine,’ Lan Zhan offers.

He turns to the him. ‘It’s okay,’ he assures. ‘I have it all the time. You enjoy it.’

‘I really don’t mind.’ He pushes the tart towards Wei Wuxian.

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I insist.’ There’s that small, gentle smile again and Wei Wuxian’s heart does this thing again like it’s about to rattle inside his ribcage.

This could go on forever, Lan Zhan looks like a stubborn fellow. And as much as it would be fun to volley the tart like this, it wouldn’t be good for Wei Wuxian’s sanity. Just how much more can he take of those sincere smile without coughing his heart out and offering it to this quiet, sweet man?

‘We can share it,’ Wei Wuxian decides, taking small dessert fork and cutting the tart in half. ‘There,’ he announces, proud of his messy handiwork and realising that Wen Ning has left.

‘I really don’t mind,’ Lan Zhan repeats, taking half of the tart and putting it on Wei Wuxian’s empty sandwich plate. ‘It’s your favourite dessert. Not mine.’

Lan Zhan ceases halfway, abandoning his action and pulling his hands away from Wei Wuxian’s space.

‘What did you say?’ He stares in astonishment at the man across him. He doesn’t remember sharing this information. Clearly, they haven’t discussed this topic, he’s certain. And Lan Zhan’s deer caught in headlights reaction tells Wei Wuxian everything he needs to know. ‘How do you know? Who are you?’

‘Wei Ying.’ It’s carefully spoken, like it’s safe in Lan Zhan’s lips, like it’s home there.

No one has ever said his name like that. He always prefers Wuxian because people tend to mock him by using his birth name like it’s a curse, sometimes dripping with sarcasm or disgust.

But Lan Zhan mutters it with reverence and adoration, it literally steals his breath because the last time someone spoke his name like that it was his late parents. And it’s been a long time since his heart felt this warmth of being seen and loved.

‘Wei Ying, please.’

A blurry set of memories passes by: a soft hand running through his hair while humming a song as he buries his face into someone’s soft clothed thighs, a kiss on the forehead with his name on their lips at the promise of breakfast, him pulling someone’s hand hurriedly as they tell him to be careful, a sound of someone quietly sobbing his name.

The chair’s legs make an awful groan as Wei Wuxian abruptly stands, rattling the contents of their table. He must have looked like a spook animal.

‘I can explain,’ Lan Zhan pacifies, hand in the space between them like he wants to close the distance but doesn’t do so. ‘Wei Ying.’ He sounds pained.

‘Shut up.’ He doesn’t yell, but it’s not quiet either. The harshness of his voice folds Lan Zhan into himself like he’s been physically punch; Wei Wuxian regrets it. But he can’t. He can’t stand the idea of Lan Zhan saying his name like that — like it aches, like it hurts to say. He gets it from everyone else, but not Lan Zhan. Not when he knows how beautiful his name could sound from those lips, coated with care.

He catches Lan Zhan’s devastated expression before he sets off to leave. Wei Wuxian knows that the grief he saw on Lan Zhan’s face will be added to his collection of nightmares.

**

**

His flat’s quiet, different from how his heart is racing and his ears are ringing. There are messy thoughts, and brief images that passes his mind which he could not remember. And weeks ago he made a joke about being forgetful these days when Jiang Cheng scolded him for being late.

But now, he thinks it’s not his normal case of forgetfulness. Something is amiss and he should uncover the truth quickly.

His phone rings on the coffee table. He ignores it as his memory takes him back to Lan Zhan’s pained expression.

God, he’s such an asshole sometimes. Maybe he should have let Lan Zhan explain. The man has been nothing to him but nice and polite. And it might have helped him understand why there are gaps in his memories lately.

But is he ready for the revelation if he did stay and demanded answers?

There’s suddenly a loud series of knocks on the door that pulls him from his thoughts. A part of him wants it to be Lan Zhan, which is surprisingly disturbing because he doesn’t know the man, and somehow the man in question knows him, quite intimately if those glances are anything to go by.

Is he somehow attracted to problematic people after all? Did he also forget that one thing about him?

There’s another series of knocks followed by a, ‘Hey, Wei Wuxian, open up!’ It’s Jiang Cheng’s voice. Three more loud banging. ‘If you don’t open up, I’m going to break your door!’

‘A-Cheng,’ his shijie’s soft scolding passes through. ‘A-Xian, please open the door. We have something to tell you.’

Getting up from the floor takes effort, he’s not even sure how he got there. Not that he remembers making his way home from the café.

‘A-Xian,’ shijie’s relief voice welcomes him as he opens the door. She immediately pulls him close into an embrace and he can’t help but sob at her sturdy presence, both physically and metaphorically.

Wei Wuxian clings to her like she’s the last solid ground he can stand on while everything around him crumbles. He’s never felt this lost since he was five, the very earth underneath his feet swallowed up by an abyss of uncertainty and nothingness.

He can’t imagine not knowing her and Jiang Cheng. They’re the only constant in his life after his parents’ tragic death. And later on his Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu’s death. These days he can’t even remember his mother’s face, but he’s got shijie and Jiang Cheng to share stories about the sound of her laughter, her corny jokes, and her soft reminders.

Life always take and take and take from him. First his parents, and then his Uncle Jiang. And because of their way of life, coming from a lineage of cultivators, he hasn’t kept anyone close. The three of them never had. They’re the only family they have.

And if he’s forgetting, will he also start to forget shijie and Jiang Cheng? Will he forget that they’re his family? Forget that there are people waiting for him. Forget that he’s got a home now.

Forget who he is.

Forget who he is and wander back to the streets like when he was five, newly orphaned and fighting with stray dogs over scraps of food.

‘I’m forgetting.’ He sobs into her arms, as she helps him sit on the couch. ‘Important things. And people.’

‘It’s going to be okay, A-Xian,’ she assures, rubbing soothing circles on his back. She always smells like lotus flower, a comforting scent that takes him back to easier times. ‘A-Cheng and I will help you.’

‘You know?’ He looks up to her, face all wet from crying.

Shijie only nods, cupping a his face softly. ‘We’ve told you twice so far, and somehow you still forget.’

Panic rises in his throat. Twice. They’ve explained this to him twice and he doesn’t remember. He tries to search his memories for hints that at least he can recall small bits of what he’s been told before. Only to come up with nothing.

Nothing. He can’t find anything.

‘It’s just a matter of time before we fix this,’ Jiang Cheng promises through gritted teeth, hands balled in tight fists. ‘That bastard Su She managed to hide quickly after putting this curse on you.’

‘Su She?’ The name sounds familiar but he can’t remember why.

‘Yeah, that defected traitor from GusuLan Sect,’ Jiang Cheng explains. ‘Lan Xichen said they’re already looking everywhere, but that rat had planned his revenge intricately which makes it difficult to locate him.’

‘Revenge?’ This is another news to him. Well, everything is.

‘You don’t have to worry about anything, A-Xian.’ Yanli squeezes his hand. ‘We’re going to find him soon.’ Her other hand that’s cupping his face starts to wipe away his tears. ‘Lan Wangji isn’t giving up. So are we. And so should you… You have to remain calm and safe, okay? That’s what you need to do.’

‘I think you need to come back home with us,’ Jiang Cheng says, leaving no room for arguments. ‘It’ll be safer for you to be around someone else while we solve this case.’

They haven’t lived together in years, Wei Wuxian remembers. His shijie is married to Jin Zuxian, a shipping company mogul who also came from a bloodline of cultivators although their clan had focused more on business rather than the supernatural world.

Jiang Cheng on the otherhand is currently living with his fiancé’s in the Lan’s traditional home in Gusu, Lan Xichen is running their family’s ancient bookstore under Lan Qiren’s watchful supervision. Wei Wuxian dreads the idea of seeing Old Lan Qiren every day with the senior’s strict house rules.

‘Uhmm… I don’t think Lan Qiren would appreciate my presence in his home,’ he reasons out, he’s not going to admit Lan Qiren’s 3,000 house rules scare him. ‘Maybe I can stay at Huaisang’s or Wen Ning’s.’

‘It’s good that you still remember that,’ Jiang Cheng jabs. Yanli scolds him silently with her eyes. Their youngest is always the best at stabbing someone where it hurts the most. He huffs. ‘Maybe you could stay with your husband.’

‘A-Cheng,’ their sister chides.

Husband. The word sounds so foreign but also not. Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand why it feels like that despite being surprise, once again, by this new information.

‘I’m married?’ He looks from one sibling to the next. His questioning gaze lands on his shijie last because Jiang Cheng is looking away, berated and guilty. ‘I’m married,’ he repeats to himself, can’t wrap his mind around it. ‘To a guy.’

Shijie squeezes his hand with both of hers. ‘Yes. And he’s a wonderful man,’ she assures genuinely. ‘You love him. And he loves you, too. So much.’

He can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. He remembers seeing his shijie’s pain in loving the arrogant peacock when they were teens, and promising never to love someone like that, never to give someone that power to hurt him. Then, there’s that darkness that follows him around ever since he was young, taking away everyone he had ever loved. Somehow there are still days he thinks he’ll wake up with his shijie and didi gone, just like everyone else. That’s his curse, Madam Yu said so as well.

Who could have been so unfortunate as to marry someone as tainted as him? All these years, he’d kept everyone at arm’s length, afraid that they’ll get corrupted with his misfortune. But someone was idiot enough to tolerate him?

Love. Not tolerate, a part of him whispers.

‘How come I don’t remember him?’ he asks, trying to find an image memory of him dressed in red decorated in gold. He should at least remember that, right? But all he recalls is his shijie’s wedding day, even Jiang Cheng’s engagement party. ‘Why can’t I remember him?’

There’s shijie’s soft assuring squeeze again. ‘It’s the curse.’

‘What?’

‘Su She cursed you to forget Lan Wangji,’ Jiang Cheng continues, still looking away to hide his grief underneath his angry tone. ‘That bastard wanted to hurt Lan Wangji, and used you… because he knew that you’re Wangji’s breaking point.’

Wei Wuxian squeezes his eyes shut because his heart is suddenly heavy with feelings he’s afraid may spill through tears. He’s not even sure why he’s affected this much when he doesn’t even know this Lan Wangji person.

But hasn’t he dreamt of being loved like that? Selfish as it may sound. He’s never been someone’s precious person before? The kind that could break someone. And now, he realises that he’s not very fond of being someone’s breaking point.

**

**

The siblings agreed that it’ll be safer and better if Wei Wuxian stays with his husband. It may trigger back his memories as well. Not that they’re optimistic about that one since only Su She’s blood could undo the curse.

Wei Wuxian insisted on waiting for Lan Wangji alone since he doesn’t want to worry his brother and sister too much as he tries to mentally prepare himself in embracing his decision. So, he paces back and forth in his living room with no lights on as he waits for Lan Wangji to pick him up to be brought home.

Home. Wei Wuxian’s home. Or used to be, but he can’t remember. Can he still call it home, then?

He looks around at his bare flat as he paces. The emptiness should have raised his suspicion that he hasn’t lived here in a long time. But he’s been busy forgetting and night hunting, and people occupying his time as if they’re trying to rattle his memory or trying to make him forget to question the little things he found weird after waking up from his accident two months ago.

That accident wasn’t a normal accident at all.

He runs a hand through his long hair. He needs a haircut, he thinks, trying to stir his mind into mundane thoughts rather than panic about meeting his husband he has no recollection of.

Maybe he should have asked shijie or Jiang Cheng to stay. Or for them to drive him to Lan Wangji’s house.

His home.

But he’s not a child. He doesn’t need coddling. He’s known these things happen to people like them who are cultivators. And especially, to him who’s born under unfortunate stars.

He wonders what kind of person Lan Wangji is, and why he let Wei Wuxian live by himself.

Oh, god, he thinks, what if he actually secretly hates me that’s why he isn’t with me? Why he left me to fend for myself? And his shijie is wrong about Lan Wangji loving him. Even that Su She could be wrong as well and he’s not actually Lan Wangji’s weak point. And Lan Wangji is just too happy to get rid of him without the messy bits because those Lan folks are always so polite.

His pacing fastens as his thoughts goes from one negative reason to the next. No one stayed before, so why would Lan Wangji do as well? Especially now that Wei Wuxian is a mess.

The sudden door bell makes him jump, and then frozen as he stares at the door. Maybe if he doesn’t move Lan Wangji would just leave and Wei Wuxian won’t have to know if he’s abandoned again. He can pretend he wasn’t.

‘Wei Ying?’

That voice sounds familiar and safe that Wei Wuxian unconsciously takes a step towards it. Maybe it won’t be that bad to be soothed by that person, who says his name like it’s precious.

‘Wei Ying?’

He takes another step. Then another. And then another till he’s by the door.

‘Are you okay?’

He touches the door faintly, afraid that the person on the other side would feel him reaching out and leave.

‘I’ll be right here, okay?’ A pause and a soft thud. ‘Take your time.’

Unable to restrain himself from going towards this person who promised to stay, who’s patient enough to wait for him, who says his name like it’s precious, Wei Wuxian swiftly unlocks and opens the door.

‘Lan Zhan.’ This once again is news to him.

The other man’s eyes are surprised and sad, but hopeful. ‘Wei Ying.’

‘It’s you,’ he mutters with disbelief, recollecting his conversation earlier with Lan Zhan about the man’s husband, who turns out to be him.

Loving him was the best choice I’ve made…

Someone choose him. This person choose him: messy, unfortunate, loud-mouth, annoying Wei Wuxian.

I’m the lucky one… And maybe that’s the reason why this is my burden to carry.

Lan Zhan. Sweet and kind Lan Zhan felt lucky to have him. Lan Zhan doesn’t blame him for being his weak point. Lan Zhan stays despite the darkness that follows Wei Wuxian around. Lan Zhan soldiers on and stays. Lan Zhan doesn’t leave.

He reaches out, hand slightly trembling as he grasp Lan Zhan’s upper arm to assure himself that he’s not dreaming, that someone did stay.

Lan Zhan feels solid underneath his palm. Warm. Real.

‘You’re really here,’ he mutters.

‘Mn.’ Lan Zhan nods, eyes never stirring away from Wei Wuxian like he’s afraid he’ll also leave.

They must have looked sappy and idiotic.

‘But why didn’t you stay?’ he asks, remembering his confusion from before. ‘After I woke up and lost all my memory of you?’

‘I thought it would be best for Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan explains, voice cracking just a bit. He takes Wei Wuxian’s hand from his arm with his free hand and holds it with both of his hands, putting it against his cheek. ‘I didn’t want to part from you. Ever. But… for the next few days that you can’t remember me, you hurt yourself trying to.’ He sounds so dejected. ‘You went as far as to Empathy yourself and ended up fainting.’ He squeezed his eyes shut like he’s in pain simply by remembering the memory. ‘After that you went to coma for three days, and I decided it’s not safe for you to try to remember by yourself.’

Wei Wuxian’s heart aches at the sight of Lan Zhan’s worry and sadness. Lan Zhan doesn’t deserve to hurt like this.

‘It’s easier if Wei Ying doesn’t force himself to remember me,’ he tells Wei Wuxian, both of them recollecting their interactions at the café. Is that why Lan Zhan is always present in the coffee shop, because that’s the only place he can meet Wei Wuxian? ‘Wei Ying is unharmed and happy if he doesn’t worry about the curse.’

‘But what about you?’ he can’t help but ask, cupping Lan Zhan’s face when he notices the dark circles underneath the man’s eyes. Lan Zhan immediately leans into his touch, all stiffness gone replaced by weariness and relief.

‘Wei Ying is more important,’ Lan Zhan replies, taking a step forward as if he can’t help himself but be next to Wei Wuxian. ‘As long as Wei Ying is safe and happy.’ Determination fills his gaze, but tenses once again as if he’s restraining himself. And maybe he is because his touches sound like longing.

Wei Wuxian’s going to be honest and say he’s not sure how to love someone like Lan Zhan, or how to love at all. But seeing Lan Zhan’s tender yearning makes Wei Wuxian want to learn how so he can wrap this man with everything soft he can offer that sadness will never be able to touch Lan Zhan again.

He wants to promise that everything will be okay, but he’s not sure if that is true. Nothing is sure. He’s not even sure he’s going to be okay. But he wants to be, if that will lessen Lan Zhan’s burden.

‘I don’t want you to be unhappy to make me happy,’ he tells Lan Zhan, pulling his hand from the man’s face and putting it on his shoulder. ‘We can both find common ground. Maybe I can stop trying to forcefully remember you, as long as you can take me not being able to… It’s not fair to you, I know. But please don’t send me away any more.’ He doesn’t blush as he tries to look anywhere else but Lan Zhan, who is surprise. He pulls his hand completely, feeling weird and tingly by their contact when they’ve touched more intimately a while ago. ‘I like being around you… I−I… Wha−What I meant… What I meant was that, it might be good for me to be around you. To help me remember.’

Wei Wuxian’s brave enough to peek a look at Lan Zhan’s reaction to his statement. He expects to be met with anger actually, having promised nothing but still wanting to take and take from this generous man.

A small gentle smile graces Lan Zhan’s lips, liquid gold eyes swimming with adoration and relief. ‘Wei Ying being around is enough for me.’

He can’t help but echo the smile. ‘Okay.’ Relief floods him as well. ‘I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.’

‘Forever,’ Lan Zhan confesses so genuinely it makes Wei Wuxian’s breath catch.

He wants to disperse the tightening emotion in his throat at the ardent declaration with a chuckle but all he can do is stare at this beautiful man with unwavering adoration that Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel like he deserves, but nonetheless he will try to be.

‘I hope you remember that vow when I annoy the shit out of you,’ he jokes instead because he might say something else like promise the same thing. And technically, he knows he has when they got married, but he has no memory of that. He can’t be too cruel to Lan Zhan and pledge something as heavy as forever when he doesn’t know him completely, when he doesn’t know how to love Lan Zhan like it’s the only thing in this messy world he’s certain about. He wants forever but the kind that they both agreed to and understand, the one they’ve promised together wearing red and gold surrounded by their friends and families.

Lan Zhan pulls him into a hug. ‘Is this okay?’ he asks, a hint of worry in his voice that he might be pushed away.

Wei Wuxian nods on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and wounds his arms around the man’s waist. He buries his face on Lan Zhan’s neck as he welcomes the smell of sandalwood. The scent settles him somehow, his brain whispering home.

‘As long as Wei Ying is Wei Ying, I’m always your Lan Zhan,’ he continues and melts into Wei Wuxian’s arms.

He embraces him tighter, liking the weight and warmth of Lan Zhan. ‘Lan Zhan?’

‘Mn?’

‘Why does everybody call you Lan Wangji?’

  Fin.

[touchingoldmagic]

Day 26 - Nightmare Fuel

Day 26 of the 30 Day Ghostbusters Challenge!

Author's Note: Somehow this turned into Peter/Ray fluff by the end. Oops.

Peter decided if he never had to dust off the ole' psychology skills during another bust, that would be just peachy. He wouldn't even complain (much) when there were a lot of stairs. He'd be perfectly happy if the ghosts just stayed easy and boring from now on. It was better than dealing with this.

"Hey buddy, why don't you take a breath--sorry, too soon? Whatever it is you do to calm down, then. You don't wanna do something you regret."

The ghost was mostly human-looking, but soft around the edges. Not insubstantial, but rather like its ectoplasmic skin was the consistency of putty and was starting to run. One eye drooped, giving its face an asymmetrical look, and its hair was plastered down on its head like it had been standing out in the rain. Its entire body gave off a phosphorescent blue glow.

So did the noose around Ray's neck.

The bust had gone bad from the start. The ghost's cat and mouse tactics were more calculated than their usual fare, seeming to take great delight in drawing them out to various rooms in the old bed and breakfast, only to disappear just when they thought they had it cornered. Eventually the four of them had split up to try to pin it down with streams coming from opposite directions, but even their usual pincer tactics weren't working.

They had reconvened in the lobby and Peter hadn't had a sinking feeling until he saw they were down a man. Before they could even radio to find out what was keeping Ray, the ghost announced its presence with a rattling screech of sound that was wordless yet still conveyed its aggravation with them.

The bed and breakfast was in the middle of renovations before opening to the public, but quite a bit of money had gone into the foyer already. It was a good twenty feet across, all nice carpeting, cheery oak desk and heavy drapes, with a stairwell on the left that led up to the second story hallway. A thin and delicately carved wooden railing was all that separated the second floor landing from a fall to the foyer below.

The screech came from the landing above them, the sudden proximity of the spook sending the PKE meter wailing. Their eyes were dragged upward to find the ghost hovering in the air. It had dragged Ray up onto the railing to balance precariously, holding the Ghostbuster's hands behind his back. That hold--and the noose--were the only things keeping Ray from taking a plunge over the side to the floor below.

Despite the fact that the tail end of the rope floated in the air behind Ray's head on its own like a demented kite, Ray's expression made it very clear how tight it was. His lips moved as he struggled to speak to them, but no sound emerged.

Peter pushed forward to address the aggravated spirit.

"All right. Let's all keep calm here. Look, I'm putting my thrower away." He slid it into its home over his shoulder, holding up his hands.

The ghost glared down at them. Despite being slightly smaller than Ray, its form didn't waver or budge as Ray struggled to pull free of its tight grip. Peter gave a brief hand gesture to tell him to stop moving around, though he wasn't sure how well he could see them from his forced vantage point above.

"So what's the big message, buddy?" Peter asked the spirit lightly. His tone was betrayed by the intensity on his face. "You got something you want to say? Cuz we're listening."

The ghost opened its mouth, but the only thing that emerged was a choking rattle, angry and sharp.

Peter frowned. "Well can't say I know that one. Maybe if you hum a few bars, I can fake it."

The ghost garbled a reply that sounded like a breathless shout and it shoved Ray forward, into open air. For a moment his arms flailed and reached for his neck, expression panicked, before he dropped like a stone.

"Dah!" Peter bolted forward. He was under the falling form in two steps, hands raised above his head, desperate to catch him before the noose snapped taut. He got his hands awkwardly under Ray's boots and pushed upward, taking the full brunt of the weight of his teammate and partner. Peter's knees almost buckled before he locked them, grunting with the effort, arms and shoulders shaking.

"Winston!" Egon barked urgently, taking aim at the spirit. "Trap the ghost. Quickly!"

"But--" Winston's gaze went to Peter and his struggling grip, instincts telling him to go help.

"NOW. It can't materialize extraneous manifestations in the trap."

Winston's eyes widened and he nodded, the plan now clear.

If the ghost resumed the tactics it had been applying all morning, it would have been able to evade two streams. But it was too set on watching its victim writhe like a worm on the end of a hook. A pair of streams shot out simultaneously and the two Ghostbusters were able to snare the specter while it was distracted.

It raged when it was caught, the mostly human features melting further into something more monstrous, with bulging eyes and an elongated chin. Winston held the bucking, snarling thing while Egon threw the trap, and the foyer lit up with a cone of white light.

As soon as the trap snapped shut there was a loud thump. Winston and Egon shot over to help the others, who were now in a pile on the carpeted floor.

Ray had landed on top of Peter, immediately exploding into a coughing fit and clutching at his throat. Peter had him in a death grip, but he released him when he saw Egon bend over to check on him. The physicist helped Ray roll off of Peter and sat him down on the carpet, examining him while Ray struggled to regain his breath.

"You okay, man?" Winston asked, helping Peter to his feet.

"Uh huh. Nice shooting," muttered Peter, but his eyes were on Ray.

Winston patted the psychologist's shoulder after he made sure he was steady on his feet. It was clear where Peter's attention was. "He's okay, guy's got a head harder than yours," Winston said, with a purely relieved grin.

--

That night Ray rolled over in bed, paused a moment, then carefully shifted to a different position, trying to get comfortable. He debated getting a bag of peas from the freezer but realized he'd probably doze off and wake up in a puddle of defrosted pea juice.

The bruising was pretty colorful. He hoped it would look a bit better by morning, otherwise he was going to be reduced to wearing turtlenecks for the next couple days. And he looked really bad in a turtleneck.

The phone rang. He sat up and reached for it on the nightstand, relieved to have something to do. The cord was permanently stretched out from him dragging it around the room each time he took a call; he was never good at sitting still during a conversation.

"Stantz," he said into the receiver, deciding offhand that his voice didn't sound too bad. Most people would probably think he was getting over a cold.

"Hey," a voice said shortly.

A smile grew on Ray's face. "Hey," he said in return, leaning back on his pillows and getting comfortable.

"That was pretty quick, I dunno if that was even one whole ring," Peter teased.

Ray didn't want to say he had been expecting Peter to call, though he had. He got cranky if he thought he was getting predictable. "Phone's right next to the bed," Ray said nonchalantly, instead.

"Uh huh. And you usually answer the phone at night when you can barely talk?"

"I'm fine. It sounds worse than it feels," he reassured his partner. "What're you still doing up?"

"Oh, you know, night time is when I do my best thinking."

"Yeah, I can't sleep either," Ray said, translating the Peter-speak out of habit.

Most people might avoid talking about a recent traumatic experience, but most people were not Ray Stantz. He launched into a detailed recount of how he had been attempting to draw the spirit into a conversation when he had been grabbed (though he had already gone over it with the team after the bust). His working theory was that the ghost was infuriated that it could no longer communicate as it did when it was alive, so talking to it only riled it up. Peter let Ray talk himself out, but noted that it took less time than normal.

"From now on you leave the negotiations to me. That's what I get paid for," he said sternly.

"Sure thing, Pete," Ray meekly agreed, knowing Peter blamed himself.

Peter sighed. He didn't believe him for a moment.

There was silence on the phone for a moment. Peter cleared his throat. "I was thinking maybe I could come over. It's late, but..." He made a sound that translated to a shrug. "If you could put up with seeing me, anyway."

The uncharacteristic uncertainty made Ray's smile widen. "You can come over whenever you want, Peter," he said honestly. "I always want to see you."

There was a strangled sound in the receiver and Ray almost laughed. Whenever he said something particularly sappy, Peter got an expression on his face that was equal parts exasperated and touched, and Ray knew he was making it now. "Right, see you soon." He hung up so quick in embarrassment that Ray didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.

[brajeshupadhyay]

PARIS — As the two women sat in deck chairs enjoying the last rays of sunshine near the Canal de l’Ourcq in Paris on Sunday evening, nearby loudspeakers jolted them with a reminder that they were in a new mask-mandatory zone. “You’ve got your mask?” Safiya Zenag, unmasked, asked her friend, who replied: “No, I didn’t bring it. I hate wearing it.” Faced with a recent resurgence of coronavirus cases, officials have made mask wearing mandatory in widening areas of Paris and other cities across the country, pleading with the French not to let down their guard and jeopardize the hard-won gains made against the virus during a two-month lockdown this spring. The signs of a new wave of infection emerged over the summer as people began resuming much of their pre-coronavirus lives, traveling across France and socializing in cafes, restaurants and parks. Many, especially the young, have visibly relaxed their vigilance and have not followed rules on mask wearing or social distancing. In recent days, France has recorded about 3,000 new infections every day, roughly double the figure at the beginning of the month, and the authorities are investigating an increasing number of clusters. But 30 percent of the new infections are in young adults, ages 15 to 44, according to a recent report. Since they are less likely to develop serious forms of the illness, deaths and the number of patients in intensive care remain at a fraction of what they were at the height of the pandemic. Still, officials are not taking any chances. “The indicators are bad, the signals are worrying and the situation is deteriorating,” Jérôme Salomon, the French health ministry director, told the radio station France Inter last week. “The fate of the epidemic is in our hands.” Mr. Salomon warned that the virus would continue to circulate and that people would have to adjust their behavior. “We have to live with it,’’ he said. France suffered 30,400 deaths from the virus — one of the world’s worst tolls — and experienced an economically devastating lockdown from mid-March to mid-May. Thanks to the lockdown, however, France succeeded in stopping the spread of the virus and lifted most restrictions at the start of summer. Philippe Juvin, the head of the emergency department at the Georges Pompidou European Hospital in Paris, said he was not surprised by the rise in cases. “You lock down people during two months, putting a stop to infections,” he said. “Once people are again allowed to go outside, it is not surprising that infection quickly resumes.” The course of the pandemic in Europe has followed a somewhat similar trend, with Spain also reporting new local clusters. But important disparities exist among countries. In the past week, as France reported 20,000 new cases, Italy reported 7,000, and Britain, 3,000, according to data collected by The New York Times. Mircea Sofonea, an epidemiologist at the French University of Montpellier, said today’s situation had “nothing to do in terms of imminent health risk” with the situation that preceded the European lockdowns because the number of hospitalized coronavirus patients and deaths remains very low. In France, the daily number of deaths has hovered around 15 in the past week. By contrast, at the height of the epidemic in March and April, hundreds died every day in France, with the toll sometimes rising into four digits. In April, intensive care units were at 140 percent capacity; only 7 percent were occupied about 10 days ago. Mr. Sofonea said all European countries were expecting a rebound of the epidemic in the fall, when people who have been away on vacation come back to work and when social interaction resumes. The French authorities fear that the rising number of infections in young people, many of whom are asymptomatic, may contribute to the spread of the virus to older, more vulnerable people. “Young people felt a little more invincible,” said Olivier George, a 36-year-old baker. “That’s probably what made them the most affected group.” Across the continent, crowds of young people are flocking to illegal parties organized in outdoor areas, regardless of the risk of infection. While the number of new cases in France has been rising steadily, it is difficult to draw comparisons with earlier stages in the epidemic. The number of tests being carried out across France has increased to about 600,000 a week — or about six times the numbers performed during the height of the epidemic. At that time, France suffered from severe shortages of test kits, making it impossible for many suspected of having Covid-19 to get tested. Raphaëlle Escande, 23, a business school student, said she fell ill in March with symptoms of the disease, including the loss of smell, a sore throat and fever. “That lasted three weeks,’’ she said. “I stayed home because you couldn’t get tested.’’ The Coronavirus Outbreak › Frequently Asked Questions Updated August 17, 2020 Why does standing six feet away from others help? The coronavirus spreads primarily through droplets from your mouth and nose, especially when you cough or sneeze. The C.D.C., one of the organizations using that measure, bases its recommendation of six feet on the idea that most large droplets that people expel when they cough or sneeze will fall to the ground within six feet. But six feet has never been a magic number that guarantees complete protection. Sneezes, for instance, can launch droplets a lot farther than six feet, according to a recent study. It’s a rule of thumb: You should be safest standing six feet apart outside, especially when it’s windy. But keep a mask on at all times, even when you think you’re far enough apart. I have antibodies. Am I now immune? As of right now, that seems likely, for at least several months. There have been frightening accounts of people suffering what seems to be a second bout of Covid-19. But experts say these patients may have a drawn-out course of infection, with the virus taking a slow toll weeks to months after initial exposure. People infected with the coronavirus typically produce immune molecules called antibodies, which are protective proteins made in response to an infection. These antibodies may last in the body only two to three months, which may seem worrisome, but that’s perfectly normal after an acute infection subsides, said Dr. Michael Mina, an immunologist at Harvard University. It may be possible to get the coronavirus again, but it’s highly unlikely that it would be possible in a short window of time from initial infection or make people sicker the second time. I’m a small-business owner. Can I get relief? The stimulus bills enacted in March offer help for the millions of American small businesses. Those eligible for aid are businesses and nonprofit organizations with fewer than 500 workers, including sole proprietorships, independent contractors and freelancers. Some larger companies in some industries are also eligible. The help being offered, which is being managed by the Small Business Administration, includes the Paycheck Protection Program and the Economic Injury Disaster Loan program. But lots of folks have not yet seen payouts. Even those who have received help are confused: The rules are draconian, and some are stuck sitting on money they don’t know how to use. Many small-business owners are getting less than they expected or not hearing anything at all. What are my rights if I am worried about going back to work? What is school going to look like in September? It is unlikely that many schools will return to a normal schedule this fall, requiring the grind of online learning, makeshift child care and stunted workdays to continue. California’s two largest public school districts — Los Angeles and San Diego — said on July 13, that instruction will be remote-only in the fall, citing concerns that surging coronavirus infections in their areas pose too dire a risk for students and teachers. Together, the two districts enroll some 825,000 students. They are the largest in the country so far to abandon plans for even a partial physical return to classrooms when they reopen in August. For other districts, the solution won’t be an all-or-nothing approach. Many systems, including the nation’s largest, New York City, are devising hybrid plans that involve spending some days in classrooms and other days online. There’s no national policy on this yet, so check with your municipal school system regularly to see what is happening in your community. France’s scientific council, a government body that advises President Emmanuel Macron on the coronavirus crisis, said in a report in late July that “the balance is fragile, and we can change course at any time to a less-controlled scenario.” The council warned that a second wave was “highly possible” in the fall, given the current trend. The sharp rise in cases has led the government to declare Paris and the region of Marseille as high-risk zones, effectively granting the local authorities power to impose new measures aimed at containing the spread of the disease. In Paris, mask wearing had been limited to public transportation and indoor establishments, as it was in the rest of the country. But the requirement was extended to crowded outdoor areas about a week ago, and further expanded across many more swathes of the city over the weekend. Prime Minister Jean Castex warned last week that the country had been going “the wrong way” for the past few weeks, and said he wanted “to extend as far as possible the obligation to wear masks in public spaces.” The government’s reliance on face masks as a main weapon in its fight against the virus amounts to an about-face in its strategy. Early in the epidemic, faced with severe shortages of masks, the government said they were useless against the virus — contradicting its own longstanding public health policies. “I didn’t find them coherent at all,’’ said Laura Castel, 31, a high school teacher. “In the beginning, it was, ‘Don’t wear masks, they’re not necessary.’ But that’s because we just didn’t have masks, in my opinion.’’ Now that France has more than sufficient supplies of masks, Ms. Castel said, the government was “singing a new tune.’’ Perhaps because of the government’s contradictory messages on masks, people were slow to start wearing them in newly mask-mandatory zones in Paris. Along stretches of the Seine over the weekend, only about half of pedestrians had their faces covered. The police will be enforcing the measures — which will be in place for at least a month — with a fine of 135 euros, or $159. In addition to masks and tests, France now has other tools that were unavailable at the start of the epidemic, including contact-tracing teams and a contact-tracing smartphone application — though neither have been fully tested yet. As the French learn how to live with the virus, health officials have adapted by quickly moving to extinguish local outbreaks and tightening restrictions as needed. The goal is to prevent local clusters from spiraling out of control and pushing France again into a national lockdown. Anthony Rasoloarimanana, 40, a travel agent who was walking under the elevated metro tracks of Boulevard de la Chapelle in northern Paris, a new mask-mandatory zone, said he was worried that the recent period of resurgence was similar to the one just before the lockdown in March. “Have the sacrifices we’ve made over several months been for nothing?” he said of the lockdown. “That would be terrible.” Théophile Larcher contributed reporting from Paris. Monika Pronczuk contributed reporting from Brussels. The post Beaten Back, the Coronavirus Regains Strength in France appeared first on Shri Times News. from WordPress https://ift.tt/3g0JpqQ

http://sansaartimes.blogspot.com/2020/08/beaten-back-coronavirus-regains.html

[myheroacademia-headcanons]

Hi! If it's not too much trouble, may I ask for a one-shot with Bakugou x reader? Like she's in class 1-C and wants to become a hero but her parents didn't let her take the entrance exam for the hero course because they thought she was way too weak. And she moved across the country to UA to get away from them, and one day Bakugou hears her talking to Shinsou about it and he starts subtly and indirectly helping her but being a tsundere about it? Thanks so much if you can write it, no pressure! :)

(Y/N) watched as the 2nd year students walked by, the hero course students… what she wouldn’t give to be one of them. (Y/N) was a first year in general studies, but had always dreamed of being a hero, sadly her parents would only let her attend UA if she applied to general studies. Her parents never believed that her quirk was good enough, and that she would get hurt or get in the way as a hero, and maybe they were right; but that didn’t make her stop dreaming. Dreaming that she could be like the parade of students before her.

Midoriya, Todoroki, Iida, Yaoyorozu, and… Bakugo. The stars of the school last year, class 1A was full of amazing hero candidates, but one of them was a cut above the rest, at least, in (Y/N)’s eyes. Katsuki Bakugo was the winner of last year’s sports festival, and one of the strongest students in the hero course, and definitely the most handsome. Most of (Y/N)’s classmates thought he was a jerk, and they weren’t wrong, but she couldn’t help herself from being drawn to him. Maybe she saw something in him that nobody else did, or maybe she was just into bad boys, only time would tell.

(Y/N) was brought back to the moment when she saw a familiar face in the parade of would-be heroes, Hitoshi Shinso. Hero of the general studies course, and her childhood friend, Shinso was legendary for being the only general studies student to make it to the last round of the sports festival, and for successfully moving from general studies to the hero course. (Y/N) and Shinsou went to the same primary school, and even though he was the year above her, they had been good friends, at least, until her family moved during middle school. She wondered if he remembered her.

“Hey Shinso!” (Y/N) called out, before her better judgement warned her not to make a scene. He turned his head and their eyes met, whether he remembered her or not, she was committed now.

Shinso looked puzzled for a moment, then cracked a half smile. “(Y/N)? Is that you? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah… it has.” She replied, returning his smile. “A lot has changed since then, I hear you’re a hero course student now.”

“I am, my dreams seem almost attainable now.” He took a breath and exhaled slowly, he wasn’t usually very expressive, but (Y/N) knew that it was an expression of happiness. “It’s good to see you here. A step closer to being a hero, right?”

“Unfortunately no, I’m general studies…” She sighed.

“Didn’t pass the exam?”

“Didn’t even get to try. You know my parents, they don’t think I’m cut out for it.” She tried to sound like it didn’t bother her, like admitting she wasn’t good enough didn’t crush her heart.

Shinso nodded knowingly, then put a hand on her shoulder. “Well, you know what they say. Do well enough in the sports festival and you may get moved. You just need to prove yourself.”

“Hey, Shinso!” A green haired boy poked his head out of a classroom. “Are you coming? Iida wants us all to be in our seats before the bell rings!”

“I’ll be there, get off my case!” He shouted back. Shinso then returned his attention to (Y/N)

“A friend of yours?” She asked, almost mocking him.

“Friend is a strong word.” Shinso replied with an eye roll. “Anyway, I better go. Hopefully we can catch up later.”

“Yeah, I look forward to it.” She replied. Shinso then turned and walked into the classroom, and (Y/N) started towards hers. She was worried she might be late, but still took the time to steal a glance into the classroom. When she did, she locked gazes with the fiery eyes of Bakugo. She blushed intensely, and took off running. I can’t believe it! He actually looked at me!

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

Shinso took his seat in class, groaning loudly to express his annoyance. He wasn’t really annoyed, he was mostly excited, he loved his hero classes, but he had a reputation to keep up. If he stopped being so abrasive then the other students might try to befriend him which is not what he was here for.

“Who was that girl?” Midoriya asked him.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s somebody I used to know a long time ago.” He replied.

“What’s her name? Is she a first year? Is she someone you knew from general studies?” Midoriya began bombarding him with questions. Shinso responded by putting his head down on his desk and ignoring him.

“Hey nerd, Shut up!” Bakugo shouted at Midoriya.

Midoriya stopped asking questions after that, and Shinso was grateful since he was starting to get a headache. Shortly after, class started and his attention was absorbed by the material.

When class ended he got up to leave before anyone could ask him for anything else, but Shinso was surprised by which student caught him.

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

“Who was that girl?” He asked Shinso aggressively.

“How unexpected, why do you care?” Shinso replied, turning and cocking an eyebrow at the boy behind him. But he received no answer, just the glare of auburn eyes back at him. “Spit it out Bakugo, I don’t have time for this. What do you want?”

Bakugo grabbed Shinso by the collar. “I’m the one asking questions, and you’re answering.”

“What, don’t you trust me?” Shinso queried.

“I know better than to answer one of your questions.” Bakugo countered.

“Apparently you don’t,” Shinso chuckled. “Let go of me.”

Instantly Bakugo released his grip on Shinso’s collar. He then blinked a few times and looked around, confused, then enraged. “You bastard!” Bakugo snapped. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so aggressive to the person who has what you want.” Shinso countered.

“Just tell me who she is and how you know her. Then maybe I’ll let you go.”

“Suit yourself. Her name is (Y/N), we went to primary school together. She’s a first year in general studies who shouldn’t be.” Shinso started to walk away, then paused and turned back. “That all you needed?”

“Yeah, fine.” Bakugo answered.

“Good, then after school, you’re going to start a fight with her, in front of the school. And you’re going to make sure she wins. In front of a teacher. Beating you should show them what she’s made of.” Shinso commanded this of Bakugo, then walked toward the front of the school.

Bakugo stood there a moment in a haze, then began walking towards the school entry. The words Shinso just said floated around in his head, along with the memory of (Y/N)’s stunning eyes.

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

(Y/N) Walked out of the front doors, heading back to her dorm. It wasn’t like she had any friends to hang out with here, and she was feeling pretty sad. She wondered if coming here had been a mistake. It was her dream school, but being in general studies, being at UA just reminded her that she wasn’t a hero, and she was never going to be. Maybe it would’ve been easier on me to just go to a normal high school.

“Hey you!” (Y/N) turned to see Katsuki Bakugo pushing his way through the crowd. “Yeah, you there! Get your ass over here!” She was shocked to see him pointing directly at her, and didn’t know how to answer.

Bakugo closed the distance between them, but (Y/N) was still stuck to the spot. The guy she liked… he was talking to her! She could hardly believe it.

Bakugo’s fist landed squarely under her chin, sending her flying backwards until she skidded to a halt on the ground, completely shocked.

“What the hell, man?!” Kirishima shouted, grabbing Bakugo’s arm and shaking him.

The sharpness returned to his eyes, and he glared at Kirishima. “Shut up! What does it look like i’m doing!?! I started a fight and I’m gonna finish it!” He then pulled off his uniform jacket and threw it at his friend.

A fight?!? Against Bakugo!??! I don’t stand a chance! (Y/N) worried. But she wiped her bloody lip with her wrist and stood up, trying to hide her fear. Part of being a hero was standing up to fear, and even if she couldn’t be one, she could act like one. “Alright then, come at me.” She said, voice trembling slightly.

Bakugo cracked his knuckles. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” He smirked, then began charging at her.

(Y/N) responded by flipping her hair in front of her to form some kind of shield, bracing it with her arms. He didn’t know if it would hold against him, but she had to try.

Sure enough, Bakugo’s second punch collided with her shield. But (Y/N) didn’t flinch, or move. Instead, Bakugo staggered backwards, shaking his newly injured hand. “The hell!?” He growled.

(Y/N) was in shock too. She couldn’t believe how well her mega-keratin held up. When did I become this strong? She then stood tall, flipping her hair out of her face. “That all you got?” She taunted.

Bakugo charged again, preparing an explosive right-hook. But (Y/N) ducked to the side fluidly, leaving her super strong hair to intercept the punch. His explosion was hot and concussive, hurting her ears, but hadn’t caused any damage. As her hair was blown back by the pressure wave, she spun and flipped her hair around, using its strength and momentum to land a blow on Bakugo’s back, knocking him over.

Bakugo looked stunned when he hit the ground, trying to take in a breath after having the wind knocked out of him. (Y/N) knew she didn’t have much time before he recovered, so she quickly positioned her fingers to trap him.

Bakugo coughed as he rolled over to sit up. But as soon as he rolled onto his back, what looked like 10 long spikes stabbed around him at different angles and pinning his arms and upper body to the ground.

(Y/N) was ecstatic, she had him pinned with her fingernails now. She could hardly believe it, was this actually a victory!? She reveled in the moment briefly, then turned to her captive. “Ready to surrender?” She asked.

“Like hell!” He spat. A massive explosion seemed to erupt from his entire upper body, blasting (Y/N) back across the courtyard.

She skidded to a halt on the ground, ears ringing from the blast and eyes unfocused. As her senses recovered she looked around, seeing her long fingernails still in tact she reasoned he must have simply dislodged them from the ground. She then looked up to see if she could locate her opponent.

Her eyes were greeted by an angry Bakugo charging at her, preparing to blast her in the face. “Now die!!!!!!” He yelled.

(Y/N) didn’t have enough time to react, only to hide behind her hair and hands. But to her surprise, she didn’t feel the blast, only Bakugo’s hand colliding with her makeshift shield.

“The fuck?” Bakugo murmured, turning his head.

“That’s enough.” A tired voice groaned. (Y/N) met eyes with the man walking towards them. He was tall and dressed in black with a white scarf. His glare was unwavering, directed at both of them, and every second it was focused on her she felt weaker. “Both of you, principal’s office, now.”

“Ye-yes sir.” (Y/N) stammered getting to her feet.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugo grumbled, clearly more upset than he was acting.

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

(Y/N) fidgeted in her seat nervously, eyes focused on her lap. She sat next to Bakugo in principle Nezu’s office. Bakugo seemed more relaxed and irritated in contrast to her anxious demeanor.

“So…” The rodent before them spoke. “What happened?”

“We had a fight.” Bakugo grunted.

“Obviously” Nezu retorted. “What I wanted to know is who started it.”

(Y/N) wasn’t sure what to do, should she tell the truth? Or would that get Bakugo in trouble? He may have attacked her, but he also gave her more confidence than she had ever had. And, despite all the craziness of this afternoon, she still liked him. “I-”

Bakugo extended a hand in front of her. “Me.” They made eye contact briefly, causing her to blush and look away.

“I figured as much. Would you care to explain why?” Nezu asked, shuffling some paperwork on his desk. After receiving no response he continued. “(Y/N): quirk: mega-keratin, first year in general studies. No record thus far, so I’ll let you off with a warning. You may go, stop by the nurse’s office before returning to the dorm, and please refrain from brawling again.”

“Yes sir.” She said, then got up and left, stealing one more glance at the young hero before disappearing out the door.

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

“Katsuki Bakugo, quirk: explosion. Second year in the hero course, you already have brawling, breaking curfew, and trespassing on your record. I’m afraid I can’t overlook you starting another fight. Are you sure you don’t have and explanation?” Nezu asked him.

“I don’t.” Bakugo sighed. “I felt like I was in a haze, I just knew I was supposed to fight her. By the time I realized what I was doing it had already started. It’s not like I could back down from a fight.” He shrugged as he finished.

“Interesting.” Nezu commented, pulling more paperwork. “On another note, what did you think of her?”

“W- what??” Bakugo blushed when this question was asked, then glared in a different direction.

“Her potential.” Nezu explained. “Is she strong?”

Bakugo regained his composure. “She’s no slouch. Her quirk has a lot of defensive power, and she wasn’t bad at attacking with it either. Of course, it’s not like she was a challenge for me.” He said the last part with inflated confidence, trying to keep up his persona.

“Yes, interesting. Do you think she would fit in hero course?” Nezu asked.

“Yeah, sure.” He responded, trying to sound indifferent. “You moving her?”

“What I can say is that several teachers were impressed with her potential. We’ll have to see how she does in the sports festival.” Nezu replied. “And if she even wants to move.”

Bakugo saw the opportunity and took it. “I heard her friend murmur something about her wanting to join. She’d probably accept. She’s stronger than some of the other losers in hero course.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nezu said, closing all of his files. “Now, for your punishment. Two weeks of detention with Aizawa. You will start this afternoon, report to his office now. You are dismissed.”

“Whatever.” Bakugo groaned, getting up and walking out.

“So, how’d it go?” Shinso asked. He had been waiting a ways outside the door.

Bakugo didn’t answer, just kept walking.

“Sounds like you did your job. Planted the seed at least.” He continued, following Bakugo down the hall. “What I want to know is why you went through with it. Kirishima broke my hold on you, so why did you go through with it? Why did you help her?”

Bakugo kept ignoring Shinso, trying to contain his temper so he wouldn’t get caught again. He wasn’t going to let a little crush and an annoying classmate ruin him.

“Could it be that you like her?” Shinso prodded, getting on Bakugo’s last nerve. He turned to look at Shinso with rage in his eyes.

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

A loud crashing sound caught the attention of the teachers in the lounge, causing them to rush into the hall.

Cementos emerged first, seeing a student crumpled on the floor, steaming and surrounded by charred ground. He rushed forward, stopping at his side. “Shinso?” He asked, he then looked down the hall, seeing Bakugo casually disappearing down the hall. He was about to shout at him, but a small paw rested on his arm and pulling his attention.

“Let him go.” Said Nezu. “I have a feeling this was justified.” He then approached Shinso, resting a paw on his wrist. “Will someone please fetch Recovery Girl? It seems young Bakugo was particularly riled up over something.”

“Yes sir.” Cementos ran off. Then the remaining teachers began to disperse. Leaving Nezu chuckling lightly next to Shinso.

“Seems your antics upset him.” Nezu commented as Shinso came to. “Though you did have it coming.”