#on off forever. it's like i have small bits of knowledge i can always cling to. i always mean it when i say being a butch lez has made my

[thedevotionaltour]

literally lez esp butch community was the first place i really learned it was possible to be seen as like. attractive. my confidence on off wavers often very often but sometimes i just remember there are people who find it possible to view me attractively.

[ghxstic]

Dw i got you. Go ship your moots 💜

AHH AYAYAYA ITS FINALLY MY TURNNN <333

okay so, i tried to add everyone ! ! i even went through my following, but if i left anyone out its bc i forgot if we were actually moots or if it was just me that followed you, if that makes sense ! anyway, let's move on <33

@getou2001 is shipped with . .

. . . YAE MIKO : MIKO ? ? cmon, ik you love her i can't just leave her out. you love visiting her shrine :(( she makes sure her schedule it cleared just for you :(( n she always leaves you shaky n such a mess, she loves seeing her little bunny all messy for her ♡

@emomanswhore is shipped with . .

. . . ALUCARD : cmon your acc is LITERALLY themes after the vampire king, it would be a crime if i didn't add him >:(( anyway ! he's enamored by you baby ! ! his pretty little bride, the only woman he loves and adores ♡

@touyyes is shipped with . .

. . . TOJI : i was gonna say leon, but since i have v v little knowledge abt him i settled for toji, ANYWAY we know you love him babes, we also know you wanna suck on his tits and that's okay ! ! he let's you 🤭

@luvbladez is shipped with . .

. . . JASON TODD & DILUC : again, i know nothing abt jason todd, but he is p hot so like ;)) but ! ! i do know abt sir diluc ! ! hes so sweet, he makes breakfast in bed for you and loves holding your hand as a quiet way to show he loves you as well as a small reassurance for him that you're with him, safe and by his side ♡

@muzans is shipped with . .

. . . MUZAN : i mean its pretty obvious 🤭 BUT STILL, hes so rude and condescending to everyone around him BUT you, you're the only person that gets to see a more sweeter side of him <33 he can be a bit mean though, but you just have to have some thick skin ! !

@munsonsins is shipped with . .

. . . EDDIE MUNSON : AHH i just think you two would be so cute, he'd play his guitar for you :(( ramble abt his lil nerdy interests and you'd be so glad to listen and even shared your own interests ! ! you're one of the first people that saw past the whole " freak " thing and he will forever cherish you being in his life :(( absolutely adores you bae ♡

@getoswhore is shipped with . .

. . . GETOU : i was gonna say gojo just for shits n giggles but i bullied myself out of it 🗯 either way, idk how you did it but you have that man in a CHOKEHOLD, idc he worships the ground you walk on <33 you're like his treasure and he won't be afraid to show you off to let people know the absolute PACKAGE he bagged. i mean, you're meant to flourish, not to be hidden away, right ?

@divilyn is shipped with . .

. . . DOTTORE : you love a mad scientist ? you probably love the thrill don't you ? if he ever had to do an experiment you'd probs volunteer 🤭 but fr you two would probably be an evil power couple, oh he has to burn down a tree in sumeru ? no worries you're right there at his side holding a pair of matches <33 he loves his evil ( sleepy ) wife ♡

@akazxii is shipped with . .

. . . XIAO & MIKEY : UGHH xiao will protect you no MATTER the cost, he will never rest well if he doesn't know that you're safe, and if you're in a situation where you're not safe and sound he will go to the ends of the earth to make sure to get back to him safely and unharmed :((( as for mikey ? im gonna be fr i haven't really caught up w tr but in a more domestic situation, he just likes having you around, yk ? he enjoys your company more than anything and you always seem to keep him grounded ♡

@obitohno is shipped with . .

. . . GOJO : listen, i was gonna say obito but i dont read or watch naruto so i wouldn't know what you write abt LOL i was ALSO gonna say getou but idk ? ! anyway, you're like a mediator, we all know gojo as very eccentric and hyper and you just seem more collected and calm, you just keep him at level, in a good way ofc ! you probs love clinging his arm while by his side :(( n he ofc let's you, you're so warm n you look so cute how can he resist you ? ♡

@snake-titan is shipped with . .

. . . NANAMI : AHH YOU TWO ARE SO CUTE ? ! you probably wake up and make him coffee in the morning and he wakes up as you pour him a cup. he comes up behind you wrapping one arm over your waist and placing a kiss on your temple :((( he just adores you.. n he gets you flowers every week after work n they always have a small note where he says he loves you.. :((( ♡

@angelover is shipped with . .

. . . ZHONGLI : osmanthus wine.... zhongli is very old school, okay ? does he get you flowers every week ? yes, does he take you out to date every friday evening ? yes. he talks to you so sweetly, everytime he says he loves you he says it in such a poetic way, he's so raw about his adoration to you it's amazing. everyone that knows him knows about you too, he talks about you to everyone, if he sees something that reminds him of you while out with someone else hes like " my lover would love this :) "

@httphaitani is shipped with . .

. . . ILLUMI : idk HOW you did it, how you got this man to fall for you, but you did it. you should be given an award for it ;))) IDK WHY. but i can see you styling his hair, so he can de-stress, yk ? you just sit behind him, gently brushing his long silky hair, rambling about your day and he just listens ? ? his muscles relax and he just loves having you there :((( he's not big on pda, but he will hold your hand if it makes you happy as well as placing small gentle kisses on your cheek to make you happy, he does everything to make you smile :(( ♡

@sailewhoremoon is shipped with . .

. . . SANZU : I HAD TO SETTLE OLAY. ik you're sasuke's gf but idk shit abt naruto so if this is a reach and completely wrong just.. ignore this 🚶🏻‍♀️ ANYWAYYY hes such a hot mess, but hes so clingyyy. he loves having you sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped around you and keeping you close, he probably kisses your neck too while hes at it ♡

@venioa is shipped with . .

. . . CHOSO : hes so.. big.. <33 scary dog privilege all the way ! ! but in between you n him, hes more like a lost puppy <33 he loves holding you close to his chest, feeling your body warmth just keeps him at ease :(( ackkk you two are the cutest i can't :(( ♡

@kentoberry is shipped with . .

. . . AYATO : you two are the power couple of inuzuma, its literally canon, im hoyoverse. he walks around the city with his hands intertwined with yours, not afraid to show you off. everyone that sees you wish they had a relationship like yours <33 he's just the type to cherish his pretty little wife, always putting you first, hes the type to be like " excuse me, do you have (fav food) ? it's my wife's favorite. " and he says it all with a (shit-eating) smile ♡

[angellissy]

Hey :) I’ve never requested anything before so I’m sorry if i do it wrong hahah

But could I request something where instead of ward faking his death it’s rafe who has to do it and none of the pouges know about your relationship until it’s you crying in the dock instead of Sarah. And when you and the piggies go on the “rescue” mission to get Sarah off of the boat you see rafe and eventually end up staying with him and leaving your friends

I’m sorry if this is really long xx thank you for taking the time to read my request

R E A C H I N G  F O R  T H E  S U R F A C E

SEASON TWO SPOILERS!

rafe Cameron x Reader

warnings: angst with a big a, canon rafe (maybe a bit softer), toxic relationship, rafe playing the victim card, death and talks of suicide.

a/n: I feel like it is of importance that I tell you all that I have done everything in my power not to romanticize the rafe cameron character and if I have then please kindly let me know because sometimes it can be hard. However I still need to say that I am writing through the eyes of the “reader” who very much still cares for this boy, which also means that the way the reader deals with things might not have been your way. If any more warnings should be included in the beginning, feel free to let me know. I hope you enjoy this fic which I am actually very proud of. A big thanks to @snkkat​ who is my proof reading buddy. Also thanks for sending in the request, I LOVED writing it! <3

They say that when you die your life flashes before your eyes, but how about when you watch someone else die? For as you watched him die, the life and moments the two of you had shared flashed before your eyes like a string of reminders of a life and love lost. It felt as if there was no air for you to breathe, you weren’t even sure how long it had been since you managed to take a full breath. Your mind was running in circles, trying to grasp what had just occurred, replaying the scene over and over again until you were not even sure what reality you were in. With a hammering heart and a split soul, you were kneeling on the dock, just minutes after watching your first love take his own life. You could not even remember how you had gotten out here in the first place, you just wished that you would have stayed behind as all your friends rushed toward a disaster in waiting. Perhaps that would have spared you some of the heartbreak, spared you from hearing him scream that he loved you one last time, spared you from seeing his boat go up in flames. But no, you were sure that for as long as you lived, you would see that blazing inferno whenever you closed your eyes.

There were arms around you, an attempt to soothe your shaking body, it only made you feel more trapped in a memory you would never escape. Those arms lifted you up and suddenly you were walking, mixed in all the anger and sadness there was a surprise that your body was even able to function. It felt as if you were outside of your body watching everything occur, you watched as Kiara and JJ helped you sit down on a sofa and as they draped a blanket over your shoulders. You watched it unfold, but you couldn’t feel it and there was no way that you would be able to respond to their worried questions. Instead, you were stuck in a mind that replayed everything Rafe had ever said or done to you as if that somehow could manifest him back to life. That stuck-up boy with the golden hair had been your first boyfriend, complicated as the relationship may have been, it had been the first time you ever experienced something close to love. Just days ago you had stood before him, tears in your eyes and heart in your throat as you called the relationship off. For a very long time, he had not been the boy you fell for, but rather a ghost of who he once was. Where he had once been sweet and tender with you, there had only been cold stares and words sharp enough to cut through ice. You were not oblivious to the fact that he struggled with issues you could never comprehend, but you refused to be an accomplice in his undoing. Time after time you had tried to be the person he could cling to when the world sat heavily upon his shoulders, but you soon realized that love and affection could not solve all problems. Oh, and you had loved him so much that you would have done anything for him to smile at you the way he had when he uttered those big three words for the first time. He had watched you with eyes that held so much adoration that you thought that they would never dim, that they would shine brighter for each time his eyes found yours. But eventually, they had dulled, and so you had realized that you would not sacrifice yourself no matter how much you cared for him. It did not matter that you had called things off with him or that you had decided to leave him in order to save yourself, for the knowledge that he was actually gone made it feel like someone was clawing at your heart and trying to rip it apart. It felt like no time in the world would be able to heal the pain in your chest or dry the tears falling from your eyes.

Time was indeed a funny thing, how seconds turned into minutes and how then those minutes became hours. Hours that you spent reminiscing over a life you thought you had given up before it was lost forever. You clung to the memories of him as if they were the lifebuoy keeping an anchor from pulling you down in a sea made up of your own sorrow. You knew that you were staying in your own made-up memories of a relationship with more bad times than good, but a part of you felt that you could not grieve the person he had become. For he had been vile and horrid, and if you acknowledged that, you would feel guilty for the sadness overwhelming you. So yes, you stayed in your made-up reality and wept for the boy that could have been. As hours turned into days, your friends made every effort to comfort you and try to get you out of the room that had become your place of mourning. Their tries aggravated you, for they did not understand the feelings rushing through your body at such speed it made you lightheaded. Each one of them had hated Rafe Cameron with at least one bone in their body and you knew how some of them had looked the day he died as if they were content that he was finally gone. Relieved that he could no longer plague them with taunts and threats that might have become reality was it not for his passing. You might have understood this, had it not been for the grief and guilt plaguing every bone in your body.

As days turned into weeks, you eventually came to appreciate their efforts to help you. It was like your vision was starting to clear and you could finally start trying to live your life again, and the first step to doing that was always to surround yourself with people that made you roar with laughter. Their ventures to try and find the Cross of Santo Domingo, were helpful, to say the least. Those adventures were as distracting as they were terrifying since the outcome was never given. Your mixed friend group of pogues and kooks had actually found that damn cross as well. Who would have thought that a bunch of high school kids would be able to find a historic relic? The answer would have been no one, and that is why you don’t underestimate kids with no limits. The cross had been in your grasp until a greedy and manipulative Ward Cameron came along and grabbed it. Ever since that particular happening, things started going south fast and it all ended up with Sarah being kidnapped by her own guardians. It also ended up with the rest of you stowed away like cargo on the ship she was on. While John B and Pope carried out their plan to find Sarah and the famous cross, you, JJ, and Kie sweated from every pore as you waited to hear from them. You had zoned out, staring mindlessly into one of the walls of the container, in the background you could hear your two friends talk about their dreams for the future. Something about going on several surfing trips at various destinations with each other, and that part made your heart ache. Sure, after everything he had done, a future with Rafe had not been one of your dreams. Still, as you listened to your friends talk, you could only remember a time where he had been everything you wanted in life. You pressed your palms upon your face as if you somehow could force every memory of him to remain in that little part of your brain where you were hoping they would become forgotten. A loud clank dragged you out of your thoughts and you looked up just in time to see Pope and John B climb in through that small window opening, followed by a woman you had never ever seen. Shortly after that, problems started to arise and soon all of you were scrambling out of the container in hopes of not being detected by the workers on the boat. They were in obvious search of all of you, which made you sweat even more than you had done inside the container. All of you received different plans on how to tackle the situation, yours was to act as a lookout for John B as he searched for Sarah.

You followed him down to what you could only assume was the boiler room since steam was thick in the air and you took your place by the door as he ventured further down. His desperate cries for Sarah echoed through the room and you dearly wished for a response to be heard, but there was nothing except the sound of his shoes against the floor. Thump, thump, thump and then utter silence until John B utters a name that made it feel as if the floor was pulled away from under your feet.

“Rafe.”

One of your hands finds the doorframe, a poor attempt to steady yourself as you try to figure out if this is a trick played by your grieving mind. You take a few breaths and as the silence is once again interrupted by two raised voices, you follow John B’s path down into the room. The heart in your chest is beating so hard that it feels like you are going to throw up, and it only gets worse the nearer you come. At first, you only see your friend, but then you look past him

and

your

heart

stops.

Rafe Cameron had died in front of your very eyes, so either the gods were playing a nasty cruel joke or you had lost the battle with your mind. You shut your eyes just to open them again, and no matter how many times you did it, he still remained. What happened next was a bit peculiar to you, for weeks you had drowned in grief where sadness was the constant emotion, but as you looked him in the eye and saw that he was very much alive, rage and anger crushed into you with the force of a thousand waves. You stepped toward him, only for an arm to shoot out to stop you, and John B added to his gesture by saying “Don’t”. Laughter bubbled in your throat, for who was he to tell you what you could or could not say to your “dead” ex-boyfriend who seemed to never stop causing you grief.

“Find Sarah.” John B hesitated for a few moments before following your unspoken order to leave you and Rafe alone. It wasn’t surprising considering that his worry for Sarah would always overpower anything else. Once again you looked into Rafe’s blue eyes, remembering a time when you used to stare in them for so long you would see specks of green and grey. Had you searched for those colors now, you would probably have found them. However, you were trying to decipher whatever feeling that was shining in them, was it anger? No, his other features were too soft for that and the hand holding his weapon had gone slack as he watched you. Maybe it was relief? No that was not it either, for why would he be relieved to see you? You were not the one who had died and left the other behind. You stepped even closer to him, the simmering anger inside of your veins made your hands shake and he looked at them briefly as if he wanted to take them in his. Your hands clenched into fists and you watched as his shoulders dropped the tiniest bit, and suddenly you knew exactly what was shining in his eyes.

Love, and sadness. Your heart started to speed up again, and you knew that once you opened your mouth, the anger and grief that had become part of you, would tumble out in words that you would never be able to take back. But he had done something much worse, so he would listen, you would make sure of it. Your lips parted slightly and he must have seen it for his words came first.

“I- fuck I am sorry okay? But I had to do it, you wouldn’t understand but I had to do it, it was the best for everyone.” As he says this you can’t help the sound that slips through your lips, it was supposed to be a laugh but it sounds more like a sob. His eyes flicker between you and everything else in the room as if there was anything in here that could save him for this conversation. You move your hands toward your chest and his eyes watch as you press them hard against your chest, against the heart that won’t stop breaking.

“Best for everyone?” Your voice is the combination of a whisper and a ragged breath “Did you have my best interest in mind when you let me believe you had blown yourself up?” He winces and makes an attempt to say something but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Did it ever occur to you how your little stunt would affect the one person who still, despite everything, loved you?” This time, your voice has started to rise towards something like a scream, and how could you not scream when there is so much sadness inside of you that it felt like just looking at him would turn your body into a pool of water.

“You broke up with me, so don’t start acting like a victim where you aren’t one.” His features are starting to morph into those he carries when anger overcomes him, but you will not back away from this. Your hands are in your hair, pulling at it as if that would help you make sense of this situation. “You broke my heart long before I broke yours.” You can’t help the way your voice breaks or the tears that start falling from your eyes.“You needed and still need help and until you receive that help, you are prone to hurt anyone in your vicinity.” Now it is his turn to drag his hands through his hair and his breaths come faster and faster until you realize that he is starting to hyperventilate. He sinks to the floor and you follow, not sure how to help when it feels like his state is mirroring your own. With cautious movements, you place your hands on his shoulders, and the shaking of his body sends trembles throughout yours. For a while nothing happens, you just sit there with your hands on his body and watch him fall apart. Perhaps you should have been glad that he was suffering, after everything he had done to you he deserved it. But you couldn’t feel anything other than anguish and as a sob escaped his body every restraint you had kept on yourself broke and you hugged him towards your chest. You could never save him, but he clung to you as if you had the power to undo every wrong he had ever done. After a while, he looks up at your tear-streaked face and one of his hands reaches up to cup it. You want to look away because you can see everything in those eyes of his, every regret and every wish he has ever had. His forehead leans towards you and you feel his hot breath against your skin. As you breathe in the scent of cologne and feel his skin against yours, you feel overwhelmed by the fact that he is actually here. You notice that his lips part and for a second you are scared that he is going to kiss you, but he must know that there is a limit to your patience with him so he just whispers words with the promise of what could have been. “I wanted to be good for you.” A small smile takes place on your lips and you close your eyes as you try to restrain the well of emotions inside of you. “I know Rafe, I know.” He breathes out a little, almost as if he is relieved that you are aware that he tried in a world and with a mind constantly working against him. You knew, but you also knew that there was someone else out there for you. Someone who would love you in a way that Rafe would never be able to, in a way that would not send the two of you to the bottom of the ocean. Whoever was out there would make you swim. For so long you had wanted to believe that Rafe was the one, despite all his flaws you would have given anything for him to be your future. It was a relief to know that you could and deserved to have more. But you also knew that you needed to do something before that could happen.

“I will stay-.” Before you could even finish your sentence he whipped his head up to look at you with such hope you never wanted to continue talking. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to go on. “I will stay with you just to make sure you receive the help you need.” His whole body deflated and you had to bite your lip in order not to cry again. Eventually, he nodded and you closed your eyes in relief. You knew that this had to be the right move, no one else would listen to him or make sure he got help, so you needed to be the one to did. Just enough so that you finally could start swimming towards the surface.

[mizunetzu]

Hey! So, I decided to re-write the one female fic on my blog with male pronouns. The reason I had a female fic up in the first place was because I had a mutual who wanted to do a writing trade, but she never held her end of the deal, nor contacted me once the fic was done to my knowledge. She requested this Akaashi fic, so I hope more of you could enjoy it now that it has been male-readerfied. Happy reading!

-Mr. Mizunetzu

P.s. - the old writing makes me cringe.

——————

Akaashi x reader - Where Are You Going? (Male-readerfied)

⚠️Warnings - cringey old writing, Bokuto never saying “Akaashi” right

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

“Hey hey hey-Where you going, Akaagjnshi?”

The black haired boy froze in his tracks. Bokuto tilted his head slightly to the side, holding a volleyball he was about to spike. Akaashi gripped his volleyball bag tighter.

“...I’m going home. My mom needs me to help with dinner.”

It was such a weak, foolish excuse, Akaashi told himself. But knowing Bokuto, it would suffice.

Bokuto’s smiled quickly returned to his face. “Ah! You should’ve just said so! Tell your mom I said hi!”

“I will,” Akaashi said, dipping out of the gym quietly. Bokuto paid no attention to the small blush Akaashi was harboring, along with the few beads of sweat running down his temple.

————

“You’re gonna be late today, Aakkaggshi?”

“Yes, I...my teacher wanted to review a lesson I didn’t really understand. I can come to practice a bit late though.”

Another dumb excuse. But Bokuto’s stupidly wide grin assured him it worked everytime. Some part of Akaashi felt bad for lying to Bokuto, but the guilt eventually got buried and lost in all of the ‘I’m helping my mother with dinner’ and ‘I have to leave early to study’ excuses.

“All right! But y’know...I can come with you if you want-“

“NO!”

Bokuto stared at Akaashi with a blank face. Akaashi cleared his throat.

I-I mean, you’ll probably just get bored—and it’s gonna be quick, no need, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto blinked. Akaashi almost never got flustered or embarrassed. Was he...hiding something?

Eh, probably not.

“O...kay, I’ll see you later dude...?” Bokuto punched Akaashi lightly on the shoulder before leaving. Akaashi sighed heavily, before walking in the opposite direction of the classrooms, into the second gym.

Weird, Bokuto thought. That’s the boy’s basketball gym.

“I wonder why his teacher wants to meet him there...”

—————

“I’m leaving early, Bokuto-san.”

“Ah-is it you’re mom again? You must be a really good cook or something, if she always wants you to make dinner.”

“Yeah. I’m going now, goodbye.”

“Bye, Ajdjsfjdksjfdjkahshi!”

Bokuto waved absentmindedly at Akaashi, who bowed curtly. It’s been happening every other day, so he kind of got used to him leaving early or showing up a few minutes late.

“Oi Bokuto-don’t you think it’s weird that Akaashi-kun’s always leaving practice early?” Sarukui butted in, watching Akaashi as he hunched over, practically tip-toeing out the door.

“Yeah-why does he get to cut practice but we have to stay the whole time?” Konoha joined in, resting a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. Bokuto brought a finger to his chin.

“Well-“ Bokuto gestured towards the door. “His mom is always telling him to come home.”

“Why?”

“To make dinner!”

Sarukui and Konoha stared at their captain like a child saying “two plus two is five.”

“You can’t be fucking serious, Bokuto.”

“I am!” Bokuto whined.

“What...what about the times he shows up to practice late?”

“That’s easy!” Bokuto clasped his hands together, eager to have another question he knew the answer to. “He says his teacher wants him to stay behind to teach him stuff he didn’t understand.”

“Bokuto...” Konoha deadpanned. “Akaashi’s in class six-he’s a straight A student.”

Bokuto furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, I-I haven’t thought about tha-“

“And Akaashi’s mom loves to cook-why would she make him do it?”

“Well...” Bokuto choked out, voice cracking a bit. “I did find it strange that he took his extra classes in the 2nd gym...”

Konoha and Sarukui looked at eachother. “....Isn’t that where the boy‘s basketball practice goes on?”

They all stood in silence for a few beats. Bokuto squinted his eyes and knitted his brows together. He still didn’t know what was going on.

A light went off in Konoha and Sarukui’s heads, gasping lightly. Bokuto tilted his head, confused.

“You don’t think he...” Konoha mused, unable to suppress the mischievous smirk growing on his face.

“Akaashi you sly dog.” Sarukui and Konoha shared a knowing smirk between eachother, while Bokuto scratched his neck awkwardly.

“Uh-“

“Bokuto...captain...buddyyyyy....” Sarukui sang. “Can me and Konoha leave practice early tomorrow? Around when Akaashi does? We’ll let you come with us~”

Ah yes, the power of friendship. How could Bokuto possibly refuse?

——————

“I’m heading home, Bokuto-san.”

“Dinner again?”

“...yes.” Akaashi was slipping his bag over his shoulder when Bokuto suddenly piped up.

“Oh! Can me, Sarukui, and Konoha come t-“

A foot was firmly jabbed into Bokuto’s own, earning a yelp from the grey-haired boy. Akaashi looked at Konoha strangely as Sarukui put a hand around Bokuto’s shoulders.

“Don’t mind Bokuto, dude. Tell your mom we said hi.”

Akaashi blinked, suspicious. “Al...right..” he waved it off as them probably going to do something perverted or stupid while he was gone, and bowed curtly once more. “Goodbye then.”

The two chorused out a farewell as Bokuto whimpered in pain and betrayal. Bokuto grabbed hold of his foot as Konoha and Sarukui’s innocent smiles dropped.

“Tail him.”

“I know, I know. Let’s go Bokuto.” Sarukui grabbed Bokuto by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him out the gym door while they kept a safe distance from Akaashi.

“So he was going to the basketball gym...sneaky bastard.” Konoha smirked. They watched as Akaashi speedwalked to the entrance of the second gym, dusting off any dirt on his volleyball shirt and fixing his already pretty short hair.

The three ducked behind the wall of the gym, dashing towards it when Akaashi turned his back. “What’s he gonna do-he’s just standing there!”

Sure enough, Akaashi was standing idly a few feet from the door of the gym, seemingly waiting for something or someone. He messed with his fingers and tapped his foot anxiously, even though his face was completely calm and relaxed.

After what seemed like forever, the door of the gym opened ever so slightly, wide enough only for someone to slip though. Akaashi’s face lit up-even though he still held his neutral gaze-and he quickly let go of his own hands, letting them drop to his side. Bokuto and Konoha gasped, while Sarukui face held a knowing, shit-eating grin.

Standing in front of Akaashi was a boy wearing the Fukurodani basketball team jacket, and holding a basketball in his hands. He hazily tossed the ball back into the gym, before enveloping Akaashi into a hug.

Akaashi tentatively wrapped his arms around his torso. It looked like they were saying something to eachother, but Sarukui and Konoha couldn’t make out the words from their distance.

“Who would’ve thought Akaashi was dating someone...I for sure thought he was buying drugs or something...” Sarukui mumbled, eyes glued to the scene infront of them.

“Well-I thought Bokuto for sure would’ve known, right Bo? ...Bokuto?” Konoha turned to where Bokuto was standing, to see that he had disappeared. The two boys went pale.

“Oh no...” Sarukui broke into a cold sweat as he saw their loud was captian strutting towards them.

“Bokuto! You dumbass! Get back here!” Konoha whisper yelled, flailing his arms to try and grab Bokuto’s attention. It was too late. Akaashi and the boy took sight of him. Akaashi looked like a deer in headlights, while the boy looked at Bokuto with a nervous smile.

“Hey hey hey! Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend Akkaggshi!” Akaashi said nothing, instead tightening his hold on his (h/c)-haired boyfriend.

Konoha and Sarukui sighed, and stepped out from their hiding spot. Well, it’s not really a hiding spot if you aren’t hiding from something anymore.

“Who’s the guy, Akaashi?” Kohona said, smirking at the (h/c)-haired man next to Akaashi. He stepped forward.

“I’m (L/n) (Y/n), nice to meet you.” (Y/n) said. Akaashi deflated, embarrassed.

“(Y/n), please-“

“AWWW-you guys are on a first name basis?! How cute~!” Konoha made goo-goo eyes at Akaashi, while Sarukui held up a heart with his fingers. Bokuto slung his arm around Akaashi, making him stumble back slightly while he yelled things like “hey hey hey!” or “my man bro Alasshshshi!”

Akaashi looked eyes with (Y/n), practically pleading for help with his eyes while containing the last embers of his neutral collected gaze. (Y/n) just laughed, and booped him on the nose.

“They seem like nice people-why didn’t you introduce me to your team before?” Akaashi freed himself from Bokuto’s grip.

“...We’re gonna be late, let’s go-“ Akaashi linked arms with (Y/n) and tried to usher him away.

(Y/n) planted his feet firm and smirked.

“Noooo...I wanna meet your friends, Keiji-chan~”

“OOHHH HE CALLED HIM KEIJI-CHAN KONOHA THEIR PRACTICALLY MARRIED NOW-“

“Shut up, please” Akaashi begged. He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. “(Y/n), that’s Sarukui-san, that’s Konoha-san, and that’s Bokuto-san.” Akaashi gestured to each of the boys standing around them.

“Now that you all are well acquainted, please, can we get going-?“

Akaashis pleads were lost in the sound of questions and conversations being flung at them. All going in one ear and out the other. He sighed in defeat.

After what seemed like forever, (Y/n) pried himself from the volleyball players and interlocked his fingers with Akaashi’s. “Okaaaay, lets go” he said with a chuckle.

“Finally...” thank the heavens.

“Where you guys going?” Bokuto asked. (Y/n) glanced to Akaashi for approval. Akaashi nodded.

“We’re going to grab some dinner at this one ramen place, we do it every Thursday.”

“Oh! Oh! Can we come?” Bokuto cheered. He looked like a puppy clinging to (Y/n’s) side. Akaashi deadpanned while (Y/n) laughed internally.

“But-we-“

“Sure! Let’s go!” (Y/n) said, looking straight into Akaashi’s wilting eyes. The boys clamored past him, (Y/n) in their clutches, heading out of the school to wherever they were going.

“Oh! And, Akaashi?” Konoha said, stopping in his tracks and looking back at Akaashi. He had his feet planted into the ground with a devastated look on his face. Konoha smirked, and Akaashi wished he just stayed at practice.

“That’s what you get for skipping practice so much.”

——————

[vrishchikawrites]

Hello, this is the prompt I wanted to send you.

WangXian fic set during the sunshot compaign after one of their famous fights. They stumble upon an array that shows the future and It activated when WWX touched it. The array started showing glimpses of married and in love WX going on dates (yunmeng date), night hunting together, kissing, pillowtalks and aftercare, adopting children, teaching at the CR... YLLZ! WWX feeling jealous and bitter and not understanding why. The reveal that LWJ's husband is WWX, his falling out with the Jiang sect and JC's role in his death. Basically a fic where YLLZ! WWX finds out that after all these hardships he is finally going to be happy, have his own family and be with the love of his life where he is loved, cared for, respected and appreciated. And longing to have that future with LWj.

It can be a fix it fic with a happy ending please.

Posted on Ao3 here

Alternating POV - Wei Wuxian - Lan Wangji - Wangxian - A bit angsty with happy ending - Mature. Betaed by Moonyju.

I hear your heart beating in your chest

Wei Wuxian isn't the one to dwell on the past or look towards the future. He lives every day as it comes and faces every challenge without carrying burdens forward.

He has never planned for his future, not really. Some vague dreams here and there, but nothing real. Wei Wuxian learned at the tender age of four that the future is unpredictable. One day you wake up to your mother's warm smile and your father's gentle words. The next day, you have lost those things forever. Life has proven this to him repeatedly.

Future is uncertain, present is the only certainty Wei Wuxian believes in.

So, when he and the illustrious Second Jade of Lan stumble into an array while rescuing a few civilians. An illusion of sorts surrounds him, obscuring the real world outside the array. He doesn’t pay much attention to what it reveals. Instead, he focuses his attention on the array itself, carefully examining its intricacies. A single glance is enough to tell it is some sort of temporal array, a shade of what cultivators use for preservation purposes. But it also seems to have some form of an illusionary element to it. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down to study it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, almost in warning but Wei Wuxian is content to ignore him for once. Lan Zhan has always drawn too much of his attention and it rankles now more than ever.

Another quarrel, another needless argument about Wei Wuxian not understanding the depth and implications of his actions. Sometimes he wonders if Lan Zhan intends to sound as dismissive or haughty as he does when he confronts him about Mo Dao. He likes to believe Lan Wangji is above such petty things, but the man’s dogged refusal to accept Wei Wuxian’s path and his relentless quest to fix something that can’t be fixed is getting on his last nerve.

“Wei Ying,” He looks up at the sharp tone, meeting a pair of golden eyes in question only to be arrested by something akin to embarrassment tinting Lan Zhan’s stoic features. He glances towards the illusion and stills, somewhat stunned by the scene before him.

It is Lan Zhan. Or a version of him. He’s broader, with more mature features and a much sharper gaze. But that’s not the most astonishing thing, no.

Lan Zhan is… kissing someone.

It is someone shorter than him, with long hair tied up and away from a fairly pretty face. Wei Wuxian eyes the way Lan Zhan cradles the face and guides it towards his kisses, gentle and full of affection.

It entrances him for a moment. He can’t help but stare at the scene, taking in how Lan Zhan seems to lean in again and again, to press closer like he can’t get enough. His heart races and he doesn’t really understand why it is suddenly so…

“Wei Ying!” He drags his eyes away from the illusion and looks at his Lan Zhan, who seems increasingly flustered despite the relatively calm expression on his face. His ears are bright red and he’s pointedly not looking in the illusion’s direction.

He smiles teasingly, “Aiya, Lan Zhan, it looks like the older version of you is more relaxed.”

“It is a trick.” Lan Zhan protests immediately but Wei Ying dips his eyes down to scan the array again and shakes his head. There are several clues that highlight the array’s purpose clearly. Lan Zhan is no less knowledgeable than he is so he must see it too.

The denial is already fading from the Second Jade’s features and Wei Wuxian stands up, brushing his knees absently. He glances at the illusion and feels something strange pool in his stomach, something like dread, when he sees the pair again. Lan Zhan is pressing the strange person to the tree behind them, pinning her- no-

He peers closer, swallowing when Lan Zhan’s hand disappears into the person’s robes. Lan Zhan’s… companion is clearly not a woman, that much was apparent at first glance. But it is even more apparent when those robes fall open under Lan Zhan’s questing fingers.

Somehow, that feels worse.

He struggles to maintain his composure and fixes a grin on his face, “Well-” The scene shifts abruptly and Wei Wuxian barely withholds a gasp, his eyes immediately drawn to the older Lan Zhan’s peaceful face. He’s sleeping, his arms wrapped loosely around the same companion from before. The room around them seems like it is in Cloud Recesses, perhaps Lan Wangji’s home?

His eyes turn back towards Lan Wangji and he takes a careful breath, heart aching for some reason. He pointedly doesn’t look at the man’s companion and silently turns to look at the array again. The time element is solid, undisturbed and clean. More than a simple illusion, a clear glimpse of the future.

But…

He looks up and the scene has changed again. Lan Wangji is with that man again. They stand side by side and the man is leaning against the Second Jade brazenly but Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to mind. He has his hand low on the man’s back, a gesture that reads distinctly possessive. The scene wouldn’t be out of place in any family. There’s a husband, there’s a wife, there’s a child clinging to the wife’s robes, and there’s a young man standing before them with a smile that speaks of affection.

The array seeks to show people a glimpse of their future. Lan Zhan is seeing his life as a settled man of a good family.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t exist.

He takes a careful breath as that thought settles in his mind. He has always known his path is treacherous but something in him burns to see life move on so peacefully without him.

The world has never had much space for him. When he was a child, no one had space to let him rest. As a youth, his place at the Lotus Pier was small, surrounded by thorns. The space keeps shrinking and shrinking ever since he stepped out of the Burial Mounds. He imagines at some point it will vanish altogether and Wei Wuxian will be forced to vanish with it.

Melancholy doesn’t suit him but the ache of it strikes him powerfully now.

The sight of Lan Zhan moving on – they’re not even friends, what does he need to move on from? – shatters something in him.

He can’t summon a smile.

Wei Wuxian locks his jaw and ignores his racing heart as the scene goes on. The young boy saying something to Lan Wangji’s partner and the partner grinning in response.

Lan Wangji’s expression is soaked in affection, despite how stoic it appears. The corners of his mouth are softer and there’s a fond light in those golden eyes. Wei Wuxian has never seen something so beautiful.

He watches as the young man leans down and plucks the child off the ground and carries him away, both of them waving to Lan Wangji and his partner until they’re out of sight.

Wei Wuxian’s heart shudders when Lan Wangji discreetly pulls his partner closer and buries his nose in his hair, expression content.

Suddenly, it is unbearable.

He brings his thumb to his mouth, ready to tear into his flesh and disrupt the seal with his blood. It would take very little to get them out of here safely. Lan Zhan has seen enough good things about his life, there’s no need to linger.

No need for him to find out that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t exist during this peaceful time. He knows the man cares about him enough to be upset if he is lost.

Just as he’s about to bite into his thumb, fingers wrap around his wrist tightly.

Wei Wuxian looks up to see Lan Zhan gazing at him with wide, stunned eyes.

```

Wangji accepts what is happening almost immediately after Wei Ying shakes his head. He has always had a more intuitive understanding of spells and talismans. It is rare for Wei Ying to be mistaken in such matters.

So, this is his future. A glimpse of things that will happen a few decades down the line. Wangji is uncertain what to make of it. His ears feel warm as he witnesses the intimacy between partners. There’s enough affection written on his older self’s face to know the relationship is real.

He looks at his… companion. He doesn’t lack beauty. A delicate countenance, inky black hair, and a pleasing form. He looks almost alarmingly similar to Wei Ying, with only small differences. There’s an echo of Wei Ying in his smile and even the way he tosses his head back and laughs reminds Wangji strongly of the man beside him.

Only Wei Ying has never looked at him like that. This man’s face is flushed with passion, lips bitten red by his partner’s kisses. There’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes that makes his breath still in his chest for a moment. It reminds him of the expression Wei Ying wore all those years ago when they ran across the rooftops in Cloud Recesses.

How… is it possible for this man to be so similar?

He glances down at the array, trying to decipher what it seeks to accomplish. Wangji has never seen anything like it but there are enough familiar elements in it to deduce its purpose. It is clearly designed to show them their future, to create a sort of mirror that reflects images of their future life into the past.

Wangji tears his eyes away and turns to Wei Ying, a few questions already forming in his mind.

Wei Ying’s expression arrests him.

Wangji stills, unable to move his gaze away from Wei Ying’s face. There’s something bitter about his grimace and flinty in his eyes. He watches the scene with an almost animal expression, lips pursed in displeasure – furious – Wangji realizes with an indrawn breath.

For a short, heartbreaking moment, he fears it is disapproval, disgust for a cutsleeve relationship.

That impression doesn’t last.

Wei Ying’s hand goes briefly to his chest and something very much like open, raw pain crosses his face, wiping away the anger. The expression… is nothing close to disgust.

It is a short, unguarded moment and it ensnares Wangji completely. His heart races in his chest as several realizations happen in an instant.

Wei Ying is an ever-smiling sprite, mischievous as they come. He rarely shows any true sorrow and Wangji has only seen him show true anger three times over their acquaintance. It is easy to become convinced that nothing can touch the formidable Wei Wuxian. But standing there, looking at Wangji’s future with a bitter expression, Wei Ying seems shattered.

The expression is devastatingly open. In that instant, Wangji has no problem understanding Wei Ying better than he has ever before.

Wei Ying’s expression twists before every inch of vulnerability is gone from his face. It is wiped clean and almost cold, colder than he has ever seen Wei Ying be. He locks his jaw and brings his hand to his mouth, his movements stiff and sharp.

Wangji shoots forward, wrapping his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist. He feels the pulse hammering under his fingers and his own heart races in an echo of it. Wei Ying’s eyes are sharp and defensive, hiding the pain that Wangji had glimpsed clearly before.

In contrast, Wangji feels almost breathless with elation, “Don’t,” he says, pulling Wei Ying’s hand away from his mouth. His hand doesn’t shake but he feels shaken. Wei Ying scowls at him, which is also something he has never done, “Don’t.”

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Ying says curtly, “This isn’t for me to see and we have seen enough. Let go.”

Wangji tightens his fingers, unwilling to let go. He studies Wei Ying’s face carefully, finding it unreadable once again. In fact, Wei Ying is uncharacteristically quiet, not teasing him about his future partner, not commenting on the cutsleeve relationship, not even mentioning his older self’s appearance.

The silence speaks loudly.

'Don't nurture foolish hope,' Wangji thinks to himself but it grows in him anyways. It is strange that a single glimpse of an unguarded emotion is enough to alter Wangji’s perspective so much, but it does and now he isn’t inclined to let the matter go.

“Don’t destroy the array,” He requests, “Something isn’t right.” Wei Ying should be present. The array shouldn’t focus on Wangji’s future only. He doesn’t know who the strange man is but he can’t imagine being with anyone but Wei Ying.

Is his heart so fickle? Can it stray from Wei Ying that easily?

It is unsettling to consider it.

“We can figure it out once we’re away from this illusion,” Wei Ying says, making a visible effort to muster his usual nonchallance but Wangji sees they way his eyes flicker away, looking at the couple in the illusion briefly before glancing down at the array like he can’t stand the sight of it.

“Wei Ying-”

“Aiya, er-gege, what are you doing to your poor Wei Ying?”

Wangji glances sharply at the illusion as Wei Ying stills, his arm going tense in his grasp.

The pair in the illusion are now closer and somehow their conversation is audible. The voice is strange but the cadence and rhythm is entirely Wei Ying, teasing, playful, pleasant.

Wangji’s grip tightens as he sees his future self pull his companion onto his lap, a spare Lan forehead ribbon in his grasp. It has the clan markings, it belongs to a clan member but Wangji’s ribbon is already on his forehead.

He swallows and feels the pulse beating against his fingers speed up as his future self wraps the ribbon around his partner’s forehead.

“Wei Ying must wear it for today’s ceremony,” His older self says and his Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath, his hand going lax in surprise, “Xiongzhang has requested it.”

“Well, if Xichen-ge has requested it, this one must obey,” Wei Ying sounds… happy. And it is Wei Ying. The face is different but the smile, full of mischief and life, is the same.

“What… is this?” His Wei Ying asks, baffled. He looks down to study the array more keenly, trying to determine why the illusion looks different.

Wangji is hearted to see the stiffness of his features melt into curiosity, “Lan Zhan, why would the array alter my appearance and not yours?” He asks, no longer attempting to pull away from Wangji.

The illusion is still playing in the background, showing what will happen several years down the line. But Wangji isn’t curious now. The present is so much more interesting.

Wei Ying is looking at the array, the conversation in the background is cheerful, full of intimacy and affection, the pulse against his fingers is still beating rapidly.

There’s a flush crawling up Wei Ying’s neck.

Wangji observes. He sees the blush crawl further and settle on Wei Ying’s cheeks. He sees teeth digging into soft lips, anxious. He sees eyes flicker towards him, towards the illusion, before moving away.

‘How can I bear it,’ He asks himself and gives in. He pulls the hand in his grasp to his mouth, pressing his lips against the center of Wei Ying’s palm and closing his eyes.

---

Wei Ying fears his heart will fail if this continues. The lively chatter of a couple in love surrounds them and his Lan Zhan is pressing his precious face against Wei Ying’s hand, cool but utterly content. The feel of his petal-soft lips against the rough skin of his palm is enough to drive him to distraction.

He doesn’t know how to react or what to say. He doesn’t want to pull his hand away but there’s a strange, almost unsettling sensation low in his stomach, not unpleasant, but very unfamiliar. Wei Ying has flirted with people before but he has never felt any true attraction towards them.

But the longer he remains inside this array, the more he learns about himself.

Lan Zhan moves, taking a step closer, dipping his lips lower to brush against Wei Ying’s exposed wrist.

His breath trembles as he gasps. The sensation is almost sharp, knife-like. He feels his entire body change and respond to it. He feels his fingers curl, his hair stand on end, and his body lean forward.

There’s a flash of teeth.

“Lan Zhan,” His voice is shamefully raw, everything he feels is written in the tone of it. Lan Zhan reacts immediately and Wei Ying goes, helpless against him. Lips slide over his and a warm, strong body presses close. The kiss is harsh, full of tongue and teeth. Desperate like Lan Zhan has been holding himself back and has finally been granted permission.

Wei Ying sways in place, lightheaded as a tongue slides over his and licks the roof of his mouth. ‘What is this,’ he wonders dazedly. There are strong fingers around his wrist and neck, showing no indication of every letting go. There’s a slight popping sound in his ears and he absently notes that the illusion has dispersed but Lan Zhan doesn’t give him time to think.

He yelps when Lan Zhan moves a hand down his back and grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up in a smooth movement. Next thing he knows, he’s pressed against a rough surface and his lips are captive again. His skin burns wherever Lan Zhan has touched it. His mouth feels raw and hot when they pull apart.

He stares when bright golden eyes look at him, edged with heat that he didn’t think Lan Zhan was capable of feeling.

It takes a moment for him to collect his thoughts under that direct gaze but he manages, his bruised lips curling into a teasing smile, “Er-gege, how shocking!” He leans forward, confident that Lan Zhan won’t drop him, “Look at what you’ve done to your poor Wei Ying!” He lifts the hand Lan Zhan had kept captive, showing off the redness he can feel around his wrist.

Lan Zhan glances at it but there’s no remorse in his expression, not even a hint of apology.

Wei Ying feels a delighted laughter bubble in his chest at this new revelation. The reserved and taciturn Hangjuang-jun is capable of such passion! “My, my, who would have thought you’d take advantage of me like this?” He drapes his hands around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing his lips close to a flushed red ear, “You didn’t even ask, just held me tight and took what you wanted. How bold! How shameless!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice is lined with warning but Wei Ying doesn’t care. He feels utterly safe, utterly content, for the first time in years. What can touch him when he is in Lan Wangji’s arms?

“Is it always going to be like this?” He teases, “Now that you know I am to be yours, probably your husband or will it be wife? Will you kiss me… maybe even fuck me, whenever you wish?”

“Be silent.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, how can I be silent now? You have awakened my curio-” Another fierce, biting kiss interrupts him and Wei Ying laughs, delighting in Lan Zhan’s eagerness. Everything fades, all serious and practical considerations hold no meaning. Later, when he is alone in his tent, he will think about how unreachable this dream is, but now he is happy to submit to Lan Zhan.

---

War progresses as it must. Wei Ying continues to remain on his cultivation path but his touch is a bit gentler now. He isn’t as ruthless as he used to be.

It takes effort and patience. It takes many bitten back reprimands and angry words. It takes months and months of careful questioning before Lan Wangji understands the incredible, breathtaking sacrifices his beloved has made. Not even Wei Ying can stop him from seeking out Wen Qing and asking for her assistance. Not even his brother can stop him from offering shelter to her family in exchange. Not even Jiang Wanyin’s bitterness can stop Wangji from protecting Wei Ying.

He does what he must because he understands. That Wei Wuxian, the one from the array, had endured terrible strife. More strife than Wangji can ever allow his Wei Ying to suffer.

Wei Ying will survive and thrive.

Wangji will make sure of it.

[mxvladdy]

Lost Affections: Part 3

Ayyyyoooo. Here is the last part to @marymaryroo's request!

On to the next one :)

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

Beelzebub

Beel would never call himself accident-prone. He didn’t trip and stumble like Belphie when sleep deprived. He most certainly wasn’t as bad as Mammon when he was without his glasses or contacts. No, he would never say he was that bad. While not clumsy he knew he could be careless, especially when food was in the picture. He didn’t think twice about eating random things. It did hurt anyone, not physically. Sure, Luke and Satan got a little put out when he swiped something, but it didn’t hurt them.

He just forgets sometimes that you are different. You and he go together so well he forgets that you aren’t a demon. You don’t have the steel stomach or fast recovery time that he has. You make up for it. When you go out to eat you always research the place ahead of time. Does the place have non-enchanted food? Human grade options? If not, you make sure that Beel has his fill before taking him somewhere more appropriate for your stomach. Neither of you thinks about residual contaminants.

His life with you unravels with kisses. It is a slow, inconspicuous death. It builds over time with each brush of his lips to yours. Neither of you notices the taste of magic clinging to his mouth or tongue, neither of you thinks of the implications of all the weird potions and food he samples.

It starts small, you forget simple things about him. When his club activities ended, or what his favorite post-game drink was. He brushes it off, it’s trivial really. You are busy and these things can happen to the best of them. He keeps brushing off the nagging worry until he can’t.

It comes to a head one night at the door to your room. “Beel?” You yawn, pulling your robes closer around you. “What’s up?” You glance down at the box of snacks and pillows in his hands. “Did I miss something?”

“It’s date night.”

Your brows shoot up, facing heating. “What.” You sputter. Beel frowns, placing the box at his feet. With slow movements, he places his hand on your forehead. You were a little warm.

“Mmmmm.” His hearts flutter with nerves. Was his little human sick? He ignores the way you stiffen when he touches you. “Do you need a doctor?” He asks bending down to look you in the eye. He catches a whiff of something when you exhale. It is faint but clings to your breath, it’s sickly sweet and sharp to his nostrils. “You need a doctor.”

Without a second thought, he grabs your arm and drags you out of your room. His food forgotten in the hallway with your protests buzzing in his ears. “Beel...Beel!” You stumble after him. He ignores you each step he takes determined and picks up speed. Before you know it you are sitting next to Gluttony in Purgatory waiting for Solomon, beyond confused and anxious.

You fidget on the couch, peeking glances at the troubled look on the red-heads face. This wasn’t like him. He was a man of few words, sure, but this was new. Beel left you to your devices mostly, a few polite conversations here and there, but you two never hung out a lot. You zone out when he starts talking to Solomon. You were still half asleep from Beel waking you up. You had been sleeping so soundly beforehand. “Are you alright?” You jerk awake unaware that you started dozing again. Solomon crouches in front of you.

“I think so?” You had no idea what this was about. “I’m just tired.” The mage says nothing to you, instead turning to glance at Beel. He jerks his head to the door, a clear signal for the old demon to wait outside.

With one last pitiful glance, Beelzebub leaves the two humans to converse. “Now then.” Solomon rounds his piercing eyes back to you. “Tell me how's your stay in the Devildom?”

You tell him confused but willing to play along with his odd request, the sooner you wrap this up the sooner you can go back to bed. An odd feeling of missing something begins to grow as you tell him. Soon you began to fumble, the harder you try to recount something the harder it was to collect. You still were convinced anything was seriously wrong but the growing look of concern on Solomon’s face was making you think otherwise. “So,” You finish rubbing your knees with sweaty palms. “I’m I dying or something?”

He laughs dismissing the notion with a wave of a well-manicured hand. “No, no your soul is still firmly in place.” He rubs his chin. “But you have lost your memory, only when it comes to Beelzebub though. It is very peculiar. Have you ingested anything weird of late? Done any experiments with Satan?” You shake your head. To the best of your knowledge, you have been really careful with your food intake while down here. Devildom foods were delicious but had potential side effects for you and Solomon.

Solomon nods. He figured that. “Could I draw some blood? It sounds to me like you might have trace contamination of some kind. Diavolo and I discussed that this might happen but I wish to double-check.” Well, that’s worrisome, you nod and begin to roll up your sleeve. Solomon bustles collecting a few vials and a mouth swab for extra measure.

“Thank you.” He smiles looking at the samples with scientific glee. “I will let you know what I find. Until then, I guess just go about your regular day. Unless you feel ill, in that case, come to me immediately.” With that, he leaves you depositing you back with Beel.

The walk back to the House was more subdued, both of you were confused as to what to do next. “So,” You flounder. “We were-are an item?”

He shrugs looking down at you. “Yes. We’d hang out in your room on Saturdays, and get brunch on Sundays... do you still want to?”

You shrug feeling awkward. You felt nothing but platonic friendship to the large demon, though Solomon did fill you in on what you apparently have forgotten. “If you want to? I’m up now, and too nervous to sleep.” Beel grunts clenching his fists at his side.

“No,” He shakes his head. “You should rest, even if you can’t sleep. This is overwhelming. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow?” You feel bad. He sounds so hopeful when he asks, like a good night’s sleep was all you needed to fix whatever this was.

You reach for his big hand and squeeze it. “Sure, Beelzebub. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He lets you go watching you head back into the house. Running on instinct he turns and heads into the dense forest surrounding the house. He needed to hunt for a bit.

That’s how his twin finds him, gorging himself on the fauna of the forest. Belphie’s socked feet pad loudly over the dried grass and scattered bones of the once lush lowlands. “You know Lucifer is going to be pissed. It takes forever for the wildlife to come back after one of your benders.” He tosses his oversized pillow onto the dead grass and lays down. Belphie doses for a moment, the sound of his brother’s many mouths and whistling of wings a white noise to him. Up until an obnoxious locus landed on his nose.

“Beel.” He flicks the bug off his face, shooting the swarm coating his brother’s skin a sour look. “What’s going on?”

Forgot. Me. One of his mouths rattles out, flecks of meat and vegetation falling from between crooked and jagged teeth. Another opens near his rib cage to speak. They. Don’t. Love. Me.

“I’ll kill them.” Already Belphie is back on his feet. He feels for his brother and his plight, but the thought that you betrayed him after you promised to never hurt Beel took precedence. The storm of bugs goes quiet, all the millions of eyes now turn to him. They jerk and twitch in unison before converging back on the mass of leathery gaunt skin of his brother. His human form takes shape slowly, shiny wings and many mandibled skulls melding together to create his flesh.

Beel grabs Belphie’s shoulders. His claws dig into the soft fabric of his nightshirt. “It’s not their fault.”

“Then who?” Beel chuckles weakly at his brother’s blood lust. He couldn’t deny that he felt it too, but he had no idea where to channel this anger.

So he ate. It calmed him a little. If he could get into the village and eat there...no. The last time he siphoned the emotions from the populous at large Lucifer got mad. The whole of the Devildom had to shut down for a good week to recover. He rubs his stomach a feeling of agitation growing in the pits of them. “Don’t know. Solomon is taking a look at it.” Belphie snorts a sneer growing on his lips. “He is helping, Belphie.”

“Sure-right. That boy meddles in all shorts of shit he shouldn’t. Careful he doesn’t try to bargain with your skin for this.” He eyes where your mark rests on his brother. It would be a perfect lure to entrap his twin in a pact.

Hmm.

No, none of this would do. Belphegor would rather die than let some human-like Solomon meddle anymore in his family’s affairs, and as far as he was concerned the moment you started seeing Beel you were as another sibling. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the house. I’ll bring dinner up to our room.”

After settling Beel under the covers of his massive bed Belphie went on the hunt for more food in the kitchen. He stops by your bedroom door picking up the box of goodies still left in front of it. He piles more things into the box when he reaches the kitchen. Swiping up snacks at random Belphie piles the box sky high. His hand stops over a few of your favorite human snacks. Should he? Honestly, it was a blind shot in the dark if it would comfort his brother or not. After a bit more debate Belphie puts the chocolates back, a different idea already turning in his head.

Back in their shared room, he listens to his brother run down the last week between huge bits of sweets. As he recounts every little thing that has gone down they both began to notice just how strange you have been. Both twins sit in the aftermath of Beel’s words, a wasteland of wrapper and silence stretching between them. “Think it will come back?” The twins lock eyes, Beel’s large and unsure but simmering with foolish hope.

“Possibly.” Belphie grits out, breaking their eye contact. He could never lie to his brother, at least not to his face. “Get some rest. I’m sure someone will have a plan in motion by tomorrow.” He’ll set his plans in motion tonight.

Lying in wait some hours later Belphie listens through the walls of the massive house for your quick little human heartbeat in your bedroom. He matches his shallow breaths with yours feeling yourself slip into slumber and his realm. Once you are completely under he drifts off himself.

He enters your dreams and scowls unused to stumbling inside of a dreamscape. Your dreams are muddled and clotted with stick webs of confusion and hazy memories. Odd bits and pieces of images drip around the edges of your mind. This place was a disgusting mess. With a deep sigh, Belphie begins trudging through the quagmire.

He peers around making note of the black holes in your mind like canvas ripped from their frames. Rotten magic assaults him from all sides. Stopping in front of a particularly deep gash in your mind he rolls up his oversized sleeves finding what he was looking for. He knew this memory was in it, just on the outskirts of the scene playing out. He could knit this rip back together easily, after that it should give him some clarity on the others he couldn’t place.

This was going to take a lot of energy. No one would notice if he stole some energy to get things started. Belphie smiles to himself already tapping into Lucifer's dreamscape, taking a bit more than he needed. You deserve only the best after all.

__________________

“Morning everyone.” You chirp plopping down in your chair. The brothers reply with groggy acknowledgments, completely unlike themselves. You look around at the bunch. “Are you all ok?” The group grunts collectively yawning or rubbing their weary eyes.

“Tough night.” Lucifer looks up from his newspaper. He was half-dead in his chair, a cup of coffee shaking in his hands. Asmo sits beside him looking on the verge of tears as he gently pokes his swollen cheeks and eyelids. The only two that seem to even be remotely coherent were the twins. The youngest of the two sleeping oblivious to the turmoil of his siblings while his brother stares at your every move. “Good morning Beel.” You nod feeling awkward in this shared space.

“Morning.” He smiles at you, a few crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth. Something ticks in the back of your mind at his look. A foggy image comes to mind. It feels like a dream, but so real at the same time. It makes you nauseous, a weird sense of dejavu fighting its way to the forefront. “You ok?” He puts a hand on your shoulder.

You blink noticing the room at large turning their gaze to you. You nod, reaching across from him for some leftover food. The moment a bowl of cereal was in your hands Asmo swept you up in a conversation about his “fading” looks. You don’t think of Beel and your predicament for the rest of the day, not until Solomon invites you over to his hall for tea.

“You were poisoned.” He states simply over his sorry excuse of scones. You pause in the middle of trying to break a piece off on the table.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing to apologize for, unless you did it intentionally.” He laughs. “It appears to be through slow ingestion over a long period of time. The levels in your blood are staggering but not lethal. It looks like the magic took root in the temporal lobe-much like a tumor, really quite fascinating- and has been eating away at the memories of the person, or in this case, a demon that poisoned you.” Beel had been poisoning you? Solomon waves his hand at your look of concern. “I am quite positive that it was not intentional. Mind you he does find the most wondrous things to shovel down his gullet. The fact that it mixed perfectly into a potion instead of a lethal toxic is sheer dumb luck on your end.” You breathe a sigh of relief finally tossing the baked good away as a bad job. Well that's...something. At least you’d be alive to stumble around your apparent “forgotten boyfriend”.

“Any chance of fixing this?”

Solomon shrugs. “Possibly? I need more time to figure out exactly what components are involved in your test results. Then making a tonic to undo all the magic is another thing entirely.”He discusses a few other options with you for a few hours, going over in great detail the ins and outs of potion-making. Soon the windows of the sunroom grew dark, the glow of the lamps outside growing brighter so you could see the pathway back to the house.

“I better head back.” You stretch looking out into the pitch outside. Hmmm, if you remember correctly Levi should be off of work by now. He said to call when he was done to come to pick you up. As if on cue a sharp knock on the door disrupts you. Instead of a shock of blue hair, you are greeted with orange. “Oh-hey Beel.”

“Hey.” The corner of his mouth twitches in a facsimile of a friendly smile. “Ready to go?” He picks up your forgotten school bag and takes your sweater from the coat rack. With a well-practiced motion, he slings the bag over his shoulder and holds your sweater open for you. He obviously did this a lot before…

You stare back wide-eyed at Solomon who only smirks, nodding at you to hurry up.

Out the door and into the chilly night you sneak a peek at Beelzebub walking quietly beside you. He catches your look and raises a brow. “Sorry.” You feel your cheeks heat a little under his thoughtful gaze.

“About?”

“All of this.” You wave at yourself. “Please don’t feel obligated to hang out with me. Until we can get this settled. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Beel grunts, stopping in his tracks by a low garden wall. “I was hurt-am still hurting.” He admits. “But this isn’t your fault, so what good does it do to blame you for it? Even if you don’t remember me as your partner, you still remember me as a friend...right?” A warm smile spreads across his face when you nod. “Then I’m ok with this. I haven’t lost you completely and even if you don’t ever feel the same way about me anymore, I think I will be ok.”

“I- thank you Beel. That means a lot.”

“Of course.” He hums. “Let’s head back. I think Asmo left some food out.”

You dream of Beel again, a weird amalgamation of scenes all tossed together in a great pile with you in the middle of it. You could do nothing but watch like a film as they rush by you in a blur. Some scenes didn’t line up right, bouncing around like a scratched vinyl, but it still made sense in a way only a dream could. You play out each dream like an actor, the script coming to you naturally with each little venette. You sit outside his locker room, a basket of food and drink in your lap, your heart fluttering in your chest. You and Beel were watching his brothers on the beach, his broad hands rubbing sunscreen into your skin. Beel walking you back to your room after a long night in the library holding your hand in his strong, sure grip. Saturday afternoons spent hopping from one cafe to the next sampling the sweets and drinks to both of your heart's content.

It grips your heart but slips away with the rise of the young morning moon.

When morning comes the night is nothing more than a few smudges in your mindscape. Yet, a light, sweet feeling stays with you. You found yourself smiling more around the redhead and gravitating to him during the day. He accepts you back with a friendly hug and a friendly ear.

He treats you no differently than you remember. It’s nice. Even if a part of your yearns to see how he treated you when you were more than friends.

You begin to get excited for when your head hits your pillow. The dreams become clearer and clearer each night. Some new pieces show up and fall into place as the weeks progress. You start seeing bits of your dreams in the day too. After-images of you hand in hand with him walking down the other side of the street. The taste of something sweet on your tongue or a familiar scent in your nose.

After one particularly vivid dream, you wake determined not to let the contents of this dream slip through your fingers. This time you dreamt of the kitchen, dirty bowls, and units scattered about the cluttered counters. You had been baking something, and failing miserably.

Sneaking down to the kitchens you pull out all the things you could remember. For some reason, this dream lit a fire in you, like it was the last piece of the puzzle to getting it all back. You don’t think, instead, you just let your body take control. You baked a cake.

Well, it was supposed to be a cake. The center was too spongy and collapsed inward while the sides were dark and cracked. The icing was badly blended and melting from the still-warm pastry. It was almost exactly like the one from your dream.

You stare at it waiting for some great revelation, but nothing comes. Great. Now what?

“I smell food.”

“Gods!” You jerk smacking your knee on your bar stool. Beel’s deep voice scaring you half to death. “Should put a bell on you.” You grin. Beel peeks his head through the door brows furrowed.

“This is familiar.” He walks in pulling up another chair to sit next to you.

“Ye?” You look back at him.

“Yes. This was our first kiss.” You drop your icing spoon. “You wanted to surprise me before a big game.” He put a finger through the thick black and purple icing and pops it in his mouth. “Ah- You forgot the bane extract...I had thought that perhaps you remembered.” The hope in his voice stung your chest.

Oh. You look down at the mess you made, whatever feelings of satisfaction are lost. “I thought I was forgetting something, but my dreams are all blurry.”

“Dreams?” Beel pauses reaching for a slice. “You dreamt of this?”

“Yes. Been dreaming about you a lot of late.” You flush. “Little things that are starting to build a bigger picture. I just had this dream of a cake and the urge to make one...so- here we are.” You wave your hand out over the messy kitchen. Sighing plopping your chin down on your palm. “Guess I can sleep on it a bit more huh?” You shoot him a quick wink and sad smile.

“Or just ask Belphie.” He shrugs, taking another large slice of the disaster. “Sounds like he’s been meddling.” That realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Damn, you could have slapped yourself. “I’m sure he meant well, but he shouldn’t force you if you don’t want to. I could tell him to stop.”

What! No! You shake your head. “No. I-I don’t mind it. Solomon has yet to figure anything out, and whatever your brother is doing seems to be helping a little.” Beelzebub said nothing to that and just continued to eat while you started the dishes.

“Do you want to end tonight like we did before?” He asks sometime later, half of the dishes now drip drying in the rack. His long arms box you in on either side holding on to the lip of the sink. His head dips low, his chin resting on the top of your head. Deep down you knew that you could leave at any time. His grip was loose and easily breakable, considerate as ever to your comforts.

You turn to face him, a soft look crosses his face. “And how did it end?” He grins moving closer. You would have to thank Belphie for his interference. Just, perhaps later. You doubted he would want to be in your dreams tonight.

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

twenty six

pairing: harry styles x OC

synopsis: an emotional night

disclaimer: nightmares, child abuse, blood, descriptions of child abuse, kissing

The mind returns in dream

-Amy Bonner

"Did you know that Queen Victoria had a 14 year old stalker who broke into Buckingham Palace at least four times?"

"I didn't know that." Harry mumbles, turning himself on his side to look at Avery. She is lying on her back, eyes trained on the ceiling, saying anything that comes across her mind.

"Apparently he even stole her underwear once!"

"Avery, we’re supposed to sleep." There was a small bat of silence after Harry’s statement. In truth, Avery had been doing everything she could to avoid sleeping, despite agreeing to rest.

"Oh right" She murmurs, closing her eyes before opening them again. "I’m sorry. What time is it? Is it morning yet?"

"It must be around 1am."

"That's not close to morning at all," Her lips start to quiver at the realization. He watches as she takes two deep breaths, shuts her eyes, and turns to face him; the quivering coming to a stop.

"can't we drink a cup of tea? I always sleep better with tea."

Harry can hear the desperation in her voice. He can see her clinging to any possible scenario that will keep her awake. Every possibility that will prolong the inevitable. She needs sleep. At this point, more than anything.

“You’ve had more than enough tea for the night. We can make more in the morning. But first, we have to sleep." Right outside the window streetlights cast ambient light upon Avery's bedroom. The golden rays dance across her face so elegantly; so gently.

Her eyes are trained on something Harry can’t see, but he is acutely aware of her. He can see the three freckles that have made themselves home on her nose, the heart shape of her lips, the cerulean blue hue of her eyes. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

If only he could take a photograph. Try to capture this moment in its entirety, in all of its beauty. Show them how amazing these small, intimate moments are. Or maybe he didn't want that. Maybe he just wanted to keep her close. Keep this for him, and only him.

"What about my Valerian pills? They help me fall asleep."

"Love, don’t they make it worse?"

"Sometimes, but at least I'll be asleep." Her eyes finally trail up to his own. While his are calm and reassuring, hers are filled with fear. Fear that runs deeper than he could ever imagine.

"What do you dream about, Ave?" His fingers caress her cheek, he can feel her breath hitch as he gently brushes her hair behind her ear.

"I’ve never told anyone," She mutters, her eyes never leaving his own. Not for a second. "not anyone I cared about."

"Then let me be the first" With his hands on her cheeks, his eyes fall to her rosy lips. The familiar urge to kiss her resurfaces, flowing from his head to his toes. But he can’t, he knows he can’t. What they have is too delicate to risk.

From the moment that he had met her, he knew that she was alone. He has never seen her with anyone else, never seen her receive a text message or a phone call. To his knowledge, she doesn’t step foot out of her flat unless something important warrants her to do so.

Deep down, he knows that he is all that she’s got. The only person who is there for her in any true sense. The last thing he wants to do is ruin what they’ve created by giving in to his own urges.

Regardless of Harry's string of thoughts, their eyes meet. Sky blue on forest green. As Avery's eyes trail down to his lips, he slowly leans forward, pressing his lips to her own. The kiss is delicate and soft. With his calloused hands gently cupping her cheeks, Avery feels like that of porcelain. Like a fragile piece of glass someone is terrified to drop.

His hands drop from her face to her hip, pulling her impossibly closer. She grabs at his shirt, heavy breaths escaping as their lips briefly part. They are so close to one another, entangled with each other in every way they could, but it isn’t close enough.

His lips taste like earl grey tea and peppermint gum, a blend Avery didn’t know could be so addictive. Her lips taste of bitter coffee, but he doesn’t mind. They’re hers, that’s all that matters.

A few moments later Harry pulls back. He rests his forehead atop her own, leaving a gentle kiss to her nose as they both regain their breaths. Harry's thoughts diminish as he focuses on what’s happening now. The present. It’s only now that he can really see just how Avery is reacting. Her hands are latched tightly to his shirt, desperately trying to pull him closer. Harry's gentle call of her name does nothing to aid in her growing frustration.

He lets her pull him in once again, their lips reconnecting in a more heated kiss. She bites down on his lower lip, letting him know that he can continue. Harry slowly turns them over, leaning up with his elbows on either side of Avery's head, Avery laying on her back. And they kiss. Averys lips continue locking with his own because this feeling is so different from how numb she has felt. How she has been feeling for far too long.

For the first time that Avery can remember, she feels alive. Feeling Harry's lips on hers, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath her touch, it feels like home. Like comfort and safety, like last minute trips to the beach and drinking tea at house parties. It feels like everything finally coming together.

If only she could stay here for the rest of her life - stay right here, in this moment. Forever. Then everything would be alright. No worries, no mean girls, no nightmares, no sleepless nights. None of it. She would be okay. She could handle every thought spiral, every mean word, every single doubt, if she knew that she could come home to this. Know that she could feel Harry's lips on hers at the end of the day.

The small sounds Avery is emitting make Harry slow his movements down "Ave..." he mumbles in between kisses. “Hey hey hey, it’s okay… slow down, love. It’s okay.”

She can’t look into his eyes, he sees the tears welling up in them. Her whimpers only grow louder once she knows that he is aware of them, worrying him even more. In an effort to calm her, Harry starts trailing kisses down her face.

“I’m not going to hurt you… I am never going to hurt you… I don't ever want to do that.” She hasn’t said a word to him in an alarming amount of time, not letting him know what is going on in her head. His kisses trail down her jaw before pressing softly into her neck, right above her pulse point. “Talk to me, love. Please say something…”

“You will leave…” She says it so quietly that he almost misses it. But when those three words hit his ears his own eyes begin to water. He immediately stops his actions, softly cupping her cheeks in his hands. Her lips quivers once again before she whispers “I don’t want you to leave, Harry.”

"I won’t, Avery. I’m not going to leave." He reassures her, pushing another strand of hair out of her face as a few tears roll down her cheeks. "Look at me, please... I know you’re scared, I know. This is something new for the both of us, and new things are always scary."

"God I'm pathetic," Harry wipes the tears away from her cheeks, looking down at the girl below him with empathetic eyes. "I'm sorry"

“It’s okay. You’re not pathetic. If anyone here is pathetic, it’s me because I am just so smitten by you!”

Avery giggles as Harry presses one final kiss to her lips, both of them smiling into it like lovesick idiots. His arms wrap around her before turning them over, settling into a comfortable silence.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Avery nods her head, looking up at Harry.

"Do you promise you’ll wake me?" Her head is lying on his chest, right above his heart, and his arm is tightly wrapped around her petite frame.

"I'll wake you, I promise."

“Mommy!” I cry, hitting the cellar door with my fists. I can see a little bit of light from under the door, it shines on the staircase all the way down to the floor. I’ve been trying to get her to come here for a while, I don’t know if she can hear me.

“Mommy! it’s really cold…” I still don’t hear her. Hitting the door that many times makes both of my hands hurt. I sit up against the wall next to the door, shivering. The wall is just as cold as everything else. The stones in it hurt my back as I sit.

I got to talk to Daddy on the phone a couple days ago, and he said we would go to the park today. I really want to go, but I don’t know where he is. I don’t want to be here anymore, not with Mommy. I just want to go upstairs to my room. Sleep in my bed with all my stuffed animals and my blankie. Maybe I could stay with Daddy after the park.

“Can I please have my blankie?… Please, Mommy. It’s really really cold!” Sheepy is sitting against the wall opposite me. I grab him and hold him close to my chest. “Are you cold, Sheepy?” I pet his fur, but it’s not as soft as it used to be, and he is missing one of his button eyes. It fell off earlier today.

“Don’t worry, Daddy is gonna take us to the park soon. He promised, remember?”

There is a very loud noise and I scream as the door slams open. Before I can move out of the way, I am falling down the stairs. My head hits the wall and all it’s stones many times before I hit the bottom. I open my eyes and see the bottom of the staircase, my eyes all blurry as I cry out to Mommy. She is standing all the way at the door.

“Mommy!” I try to walk towards her, but my head is so dizzy I can barely move. As soon as I stand I fall back down again. “Please let me out… I know i’ve been bad, but Daddy wants to take me to-“

“Your Father isn’t coming today, so be quiet! For god's sake, how many times do I have to tell you to stop screaming!” She starts walking down the stairs.

“But he promised he would…” All of a sudden I can hear a loud slap, Mommy’s hand hitting my cheek really hard. My ears start to ring as my head hits the hard concrete floor. She stands over me as I keep crying. I can see Sheepy laying on his side not far from me.

"Listen! I don't care what your father said, I need you to be quiet. Understood?"

"Yes, mommy. But can you fix Sheepys eye? Please? It fell off earlier and I can’t put it back on." I grab Sheepy and hold him out to her, she takes him out of my hand. I pull his button eye out of my pocket, keeping it in my hand. "Here's his eye."

Mommy huffs, looking at Sheepy but then she turns around and starts walking up the stairs, his eye still in my hand.

"No! NO! Mommy, the button, you have to take his eye to fix him! He can’t see without his eye! Please don't take Sheepy away from me, please!" I stand up super fast, still very dizzy, and try to walk to the stairs. But Mommy is too far away to hear me and I can’t reach her anymore. I can hear the door close; leaving me down here all by myself.

I lay back down on the floor, it feels even colder down here now. My whole body hurts. I am cold and all alone.

Avery wakes up without a sound. Everything is silent; impossibly still. The silhouette of a tree looms over the room, encasing the space in it’s dark, sinister shadow.

Hot, heavy tears stream down her face, her breath beginning to quicken. Every inch of her body hurts, every movement awakening an ache she didn’t know was there. But of course it hurts, the fall just happened yesterday. How couldn’t it hurt? No body could heal after only a few hours time from something like that. She can feel bruises beginning to bloom beneath her skin, no doubt covering most of her body.

Her anxious eyes roam over her surroundings. She is not locked in the cellar, but sitting atop a bed. It is still cold, so very cold, but comfortable and familiar. She can’t quite place it. Only now is the body laying peacefully by her side of notice to her. Harry is still asleep, his head resting mere inches from her thigh. Harry… where did he come from? Has he just arrived? Did he see the bruises?

The sound of a car backfiring rang through the silence, making Avery jump and her head shoot to the window overlooking the London street. her motion startled Harry awake, he began to stir beside her.

His eyes opened slowly, his gaze falling upon her figure. She was visibly shaking, tears streaming down her face. She looked terrified. At this sight, he was wide awake, quickly sitting upwards.

"Oh Avery, I'm sorry I-I didn't hear you-"

"My arm hurts really bad, Harry." She whimpers, cradling her left arm to her chest. "It hurts so much."

"Where does it hurt?" He carefully reaches out to her, his fingers softly brushing over her skin. To the touch, she was ice cold. No wonder she was shivering.

"Everything hurts…" Harry slowly pulls her towards him, encasing her shivering figure in two blankets before settling her body between his outstretched legs, wrapping both of his arms around her. His hands are rubbing up and down the expanse of her back, the motion attempting to soothe all the distress. Her head rests between his neck and shoulder.

"Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs," Her cries grew to hiccuping sobs, her breath irregular and too fast for her lungs to process. Harry freezes at her words.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

"And now everything hurts, Harry. Look at all the bruises." Her words are spoken through heartbreaking sobs. He looks over her, searching for any evidence of the fall, but nothing can be seen. There aren't any bruises on her, no visible ones anyway. Just her cold, pale, flawless skin. She's hallucinating, she thinks her dream happened yesterday.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

"It's going to be okay, Ave... just breathe" Harry murmurs into her hair, his hand resting gently on the back of her head, lightly pushing it farther into his neck. And as Avery concentrates on her breathing, tears fill Harry's eyes, quietly running down his cheeks.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

"Look... the bruises are already gone." He lifts her blankets ever so slightly, letting his fingertips run over her skin. Harry delicately lifts her arm to his lips, pressing soft kisses to it. Starting at her hands, he trails them all the way up to her shoulder before moving to the other arm. "No more bruises, angel. See?"

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

She nods slowly, pressing her head against his racing heart, her tears now beginning to dry on her raw cheeks. After a few minutes, Harry can feel her stable breaths against his neck. The small puffs of warm air signalling that she has fallen back asleep.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

Harry looks down at her, replaying what has just occurred over in his mind. He leans his head down, Kissing the top of Averys head as all of it catches up with him. He can’t help the sob that escaped his lips, the weight of it shaking his chest, tears falling from his eyes.

At the sudden movement, Avery shoots up. Raising her head to look at him, her eyes meeting his own. A worried expression plastered across her tear stained face.

"What’s happened?" She exclaims, her hands coming up to rest on his cheeks, eyes searching what could have caused him to cry. "Harry, don't cry... is everything alright? Please tell..."

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

That's enough for him to know that she doesn't remember waking up. Doesn't remember crying to him about all the pain. Telling him what happened. "It's nothing," He manages to let out, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, before leaving a lingering one on her lips. "I'm just so happy that you're here with me. That you’re safe."

"I'm happy too." She smiles softly. She wants to press further about what has happened, but she knows now is not the right time. Harry laces their fingers together before bringing their joined hands to his lips, trying his hardest to push all of this out of his mind.

It takes half an hour for the both of them to get settled into bed again. Harry leaving Avery's side only to steep her a cup of peppermint tea. With time, she fell back asleep, this one being dreamless. With her finally at rest, Harry was left awake, watching over her carefully. His hand rests atop her cheek, his thumb carting over the soft skin, letting her know that he is right by her side.

Yesterday... she pushed me down the stairs.

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[pokemonispain]

Im just a poor boy, I need (some) sympathy-Childe/Scaramouche

Summary:  In which Scaramouche gets the stomach flu and has a very bad time.

(Chiscara agenda series☔ Part 1) ________________________________________________________________

There were very few things that scared a man like Scaramouche. He was a being created by a god, made in her image only to be shortly discarded, he’d wandered the land of Inazuma learning then that the only person he could truly rely on at that moment was himself.

He was found by the Fatui and made a harbinger, the sixth one to be exact. It was one of the highest achievements that could be bestowed upon a soldier in Sneznyaha, one that many sought after and heavily desired, and yet Scaramouche never really cared. As long as he wasn’t bored he was fine.

And despite all of that nothing drove a more primal fear into him like getting sick, back when he was wandering Inazuma before he joined the Fatui it was something that scared him as well. A strange unknown he didn’t have an answer for despite all of the knowledge he had from the god that created him.

That unknown had terrified him, although admittedly the more he learned that fear became less prominent yet still always at the back of his mind. He may have even ended up losing it completely if only the Fatui hadn’t found him.

If only he had never had the chance to meet Dottore who was also a harbinger and the Fatui’s doctor as well as their leading scientist.

Scaramouche was begrudgingly grateful to the man, after all, he had helped release some of the seals placed on him by Baal and yet Scaramouche was admittedly afraid of him.

The man always looked at Scaramouche as though he were a thing rather than a person, a toy merely for his amusement or a tool to be modified as he saw fit rather than a person. Just the thought of his gaze, and the maniac almost child-like glee in his eyes whenever Scaramouche was around made his skin crawl.

This feeling of revulsion often turned to horror and fear whenever he was forced to go to Dottore’s lab for his check-ups every month.

All of the harbingers were always given a check-up before and after a mission to make sure they were in perfect fighting condition and were experiencing no issues in regards to their delusion.

Scaramouche’s check-ups however were always so, so much more extensive and he completely and utterly hated it. The way Dottore would poke and prod him at every angle all while looking down at him as though he were an insect under a microscope.

The look of manic glee on his face as he looked down at Scaramouche, while Scaramouche was laying on his exam table, as though he couldn’t wait to dissect him was forever burned into Scaramouche’s mind.

He did everything he could in his power to avoid going to Doctor's office, resulting in quite a few missed appointments that he was sure that the man would be pissed about. But Scaramouche didn’t care, he’d do anything to avoid being dragged in that godforsaken place.

And nothing got Scaramouche brought into Dottore’s lab faster than when he was sick, it’s why being sick now never failed to make an almost visceral fear wash over him, enveloping him like a blanket.

It was also why, when Scaramouche did get sick nowadays he learned to hide, to all but shut himself off from the outside world in his house until the sickness had passed.

It was exactly what he was doing now in fact, having caught what he believes is a very, very bad case of the stomach flu.

Scaramouche groans weakly, raising his head a bit as he sniffles, drool dripping from his lips and into the small trash can he had in his lap. He’s trembling slightly and wrapped up in blankets, shivering from the fever raging through his body leaving him feeling as if he were burning from the inside out.

Shallow rapid breaths leave his mouth as the low yet harsh gurgling of his stomach fills the silence of his bedroom.

His sleeping clothes are soaked with sweat and clinging to his skin leaving him feeling smothered.

He feels absolutely awful, completely and utterly drained and exhausted, and every sense of the word. His throat is raw as if he’d been rubbing it with sandpaper, his stomach is sore and killing him feeling as though it were actively trying to tie itself in a knot.

Since yesterday morning he’d been throwing up on and off by this point, his stomach is so tender and unsettled that even the slightest movement sends pain streaking across it and leaves him gagging.

Groaning low in his throat, Scaramouche wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, severing the threads of drool dripping into the trash can. Doing his best not to look at the vomit he’d just brought up seconds before that was now inside of it he moves carefully, placing the trashcan down on the floor.

He sniffles as he lays back down pulling his blankets further around himself. He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his stomach and swallowing hard when the dizzying wave of nausea enveloping him seems to spike sharply leaving him feeling lightheaded and breathless.

He curls further in on himself, a soft whimper leaving his mouth. A loud harsh burp tears from his lips as his stomach gives a sickening growl that has him clamping a hand over his mouth as he props himself up as quickly as he can on his shaky limbs.

Scaramouche tries to move carefully but even that is too much for his stomach, whatever contents it still has left inside of it sloshing with the motion and he begins gagging into his hand as he leans over the edge of the bed and towards the trash can.

He doesn’t even bother to pick it up this time as he removes his hand from his mouth and opens it, sticking his tongue out as he allows the near river of drool suddenly building up in his mouth to drip into the trash can.

It tastes stale, sour, almost rancid, and bitter with the bile from his earlier vomiting episode, feeling far too heavy and sticky in his mouth practically clinging to his throat.

The fear that had been ever-present in Scaramouche’s mind since this ordeal began flares to life even stronger than before, blaring in his mind like a siren that he needed to get this to stop before Dottore found out somehow.

That fear only grows when he gags harshly into the trash can, the noise wet and violent as he lurches forward slightly, a choked gasp leaving his mouth as his stomach heaves.

He gets a brief moment to gasp for air, a near torrent of drool dripping from his mouth, before a strangled retch tears from his lips, the noise gurgling halfway through as a small surge of bile and the rest of the water he’d forced down earlier comes up.

Scaramouche coughs wetly, spluttering as another small wave of watery, light yellowish bile surges up his throat with such force that it sprays from his nose as well nearly choking him.

Scaramouche tries his best to be quiet he really does, his number one thought being that if any of the servants in his house heard him Dottore would be called, still, it's incredibly hard to do this when he was retching so violently he felt as if his stomach were being wrung out in a vice grip.

As he’s retching up another wave he feels something gurgling, in the lower part of his stomach pain streaking across it as more bile and regurgitated water falls from lips.

Whimpering Scaramouche moves, his stomach spasming as he barely forces back another retch. He manages to get up and out of bed, his legs shaking beneath him, his shoulders shaking with another barely suppressed retch as he picks up the trash can and makes his way to the bathroom as quickly yet as carefully as possible.

Today wasn’t supposed to go like this for Scaramouche, violently shitting his brains out as he retched into the trash can he was holding in his lap, he doesn't know which one of his subordinates gave this God-forsaken illness to him but he does know one thing. The moment he found out which one it was they were dead.

Scaramouche pants raising his head for a brief moment before another violent retch has him practically curled over the trashcan once more.

He is desperate by this point, wanting nothing more than to pass out if only for a moment to escape this hell he was in, tears gathering in his eyes as his frustration and fear mount melding together and only upsetting his stomach further.

Scaramouche doesn't want to admit it, or rather he refuses to admit it to himself that this probably wouldn't stop unless he got Dottore to take a look at him. His mind immediately viscerally rejects that idea however, Dottore couldn't know.

Dottore could never, ever know about this. Scaramouche didn't care how sick he was, how much he clearly needed the help he would rather die than be dragged back to that lab for any reason.

It was the one place that never failed to make Scaramouche feel helpless just as he had when he first awoke and became aware, this was a feeling that Scaramouche never, ever wanted to feel again.

Cleaning himself up Scaramouche trudges back to his room with a sigh, he places the trashcan on the floor beside the bed before practically collapsing onto it, a hiccup leaving his mouth when the motion jostled his stomach slightly.

For a few moments, he just lays there harsh panting breaths leaving his mouth as he swallowed thickly the ceiling swimming slightly before his eyes. He feels dizzy and he wonders if he should go get himself some water. He had to be on the verge of dehydration at this point, but at the same time he’s afraid to leave his room.

Scaramouche wasn’t stupid, while his servants and subordinates feared him they weren’t loyal to him. Their loyalty lay with the Tsaritsa, if they believed that he would hinder her mission then they would find a way to inform her of his condition and from there Dottore would be called.

A soft, raspy whimper leaves his mouth when a deep ache settled in his stomach seems to spike sharply. He rolls over on his side, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he curls into a ball closing his eyes.

Later, he’ll get up later and get some water when he felt as if he could move without his body trying to destroy him. Besides, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to keep the water down at the moment anyway.

After a few moments, Scaramouche’s exhaustion manages to win out over the agony and he falls into a rather fitful sleep.

~~~

“Ah there you are Tartaglia, I need you to-” Dottore begins as he followed after Childe.

“No, you can’t experiment on my Foul legacy transformation and no I will not bring you a live person to test on,” Childe said, cutting him off as he continued walking through the hallways of Zapolyarny palace.

Dottore continues following him however much to Childe’s irritation. Just because he had to work with the man didn’t mean he enjoyed his company, he didn’t even like him in the slightest but the Tsaritsa had made Dottore a harbinger so Childe would begrudgingly work with him.

“Oh that, I already procured a few live test subjects myself but that is not what I needed from you,” Dottore said with a scowl. “I wanted to ask you if you had seen Kunikuzushi? He’s missed quite a few of his appointments with me so I wanted to request that you retrieve him for me.”

At that Childe stops walking a scowl on his face, now that he’d thought about it, although he’d been too busy lately to notice, he hadn’t seen Scaramouche around either. “Why do you need him?” Childe asked his expression neutral as he turned to look at Dottore.

Scaramouche hadn’t admitted it to Childe and Childe was pretty sure that he would rather die before doing so, but it often seemed like Scaramouche was almost afraid of Dottore at times.

Honestly, Childe wasn’t really sure what he and Scaramouche had friends with benefits? Fuck buddies maybe? Either way, they didn’t hate each other as much nowadays and often slept together to kill time when they were both bored, it kept them both entertained that was for sure.

“As I said, he has missed his appointments with me and I would just like to examine him and run some tests to make sure he is in working order,” Dottore explained, rolling his eyes as if he was irritated that he even needed to explain himself.

Childe sighed, crossing his arms, a scowl on his face. Since he along with the other harbingers routinely got examinations from Dottore, Childe knew just how extensive Dottore’s checkups could be.

For Scaramouche, he was pretty sure it was even more extensive as it was always right after leaving Dottore’s lab that he would seek out Childe for some fun. And often during those times, Childe would often find rapidly healing scars lining his body, the scars were always very small and precise the same type that would be left by something like a scalpel.

By the next morning, the scars would be gone completely. Scaramouche healed rather quickly after all.

“If I bring him to you, will you stop trying to dissect me to see how my Foul legacy transformation works?” Childe asked to which Dottore went silent for a moment.

Sighing Dottore eventually nodded. “Regrettably, yes, Kunikuzushi is more important for my research.”

“Okay, I’ll bring you to him then,” Childe told him as he began walking away. He had a pretty good idea of where Scaramouche had run off to.

Being a Fatui Harbinger came with a lot of perks not only diplomatic immunity in certain cases but also money, a lot of money so it was no surprise that many of the harbingers had private homes in Snezhnaya. Some of the homes were closer to the palace than others, Scaramouche’s home was a good ways away from the palace.

Childe sighs as he opens the front door, it wasn’t locked of course because anyone stupid enough to try to break into a harbinger’s home deserved what would happen to them. As he walks inside one of the maids rushes over to him with wide flustered.

“L-Lord Tartaglia, I’m afraid that Lord Scaramouche has forbid any visitors until further notice,” she told him with wide nervous eyes.

Childe chuckled. “Well, if he gets pissed at you about me coming here, tell him to take it up with me.”

“But-”

Childe ignores her, calmly walking past her heading for the main staircase. If he remembered correctly Scaramouche’s room was on the second floor, the fifth room on the left.

The door to Scaramouche’s room shockingly isn’t locked either and Childe frowns because it was odd, yes Scaramouche could definitely without a doubt handle himself in a fight but he was also someone who preferred others to leave him alone hence why he’d often lock his bedroom door.

Childe carefully steps into the room closing the door behind him, the first thing he notices is the faint, sour scent of vomit hanging in the air. His eyes slowly scan the room and that’s when he hears something strange, a soft almost pitiful whimpering noise.

As he approaches the bed however Childe can’t help but be a little surprised, he had known what to expect but at the same time actually seeing it first hand was a completely different experience.

Scaramouche is laying in bed, on top of the blankets in his sleeping clothes practically curled up into a ball with his arms wrapped around his stomach a loud gurgling noise coming from it, filling the silence of the room alongside his labored breathing.

Scaramouche was always a bit pale, but at the moment it was as if all of the color had drained from his skin leaving him boarding on an almost ashen grey. His expression was tense and he was trembling, his clothes soaked with sweat.

Reaching out Childe grabbed his shoulders, grimacing when he felt the pure heat rolling off of him. He’d expected Scaramouche to be sick, yes but not this sick. He could just pick him up and take him to Dottore, it would be incredibly easy while Scaramouche was unconscious, Childe wouldn’t need to worry about him fighting tooth and nail.

Taking a deep breath Childe gives his shoulders a gentle shake instead. “Hey, wake up. Can you hear me,” he called out.

Scaramouche groans softly as he opens his eyes slightly, their glassy and glazed over, completely unfocused, and as his eyes begin to slide closed again Childe gives him another shake.

Scaramouche isn’t completely sure what’s happening to him right now but for some reason, the world is shaking and he doesn’t like it at all, his stomach sloshing as his nausea suddenly intensifies hitting him full force, and he gags weakly a small trickle of pale bile and saliva leaving his mouth.

It drips from his lips onto the blanket beneath him as he coughs wetly and splutters, gradually becoming more and more aware.

As his vision focuses he realizes that it's Childe of all people leaning over him, a frown on the other man’s face. Scaramouche isn’t sure but he thinks he almost sees something like worry in Childe’s eyes. “You’re sick, really sick,” Childe told him, his voice low.

Scaramouche knows this but the way Childe says it has a spark of irritation flaring to life in Scaramouche. He said it like a statement, not a question.

Still coughing, Scaramouche slaps at Childe’s hands, but in his weakened state it’s just like being attacked by a kitten. “Le-let go of me or...I’ll slit your throat,” he tried to snap, his voice raspy and strained.

Childe said nothing for a moment, merely staring at Scaramouche, who was coughing so hard that tears were gathering in his eyes.

“I need to bring you to Dottore,” Childe told him with a scowl.

For a moment Scaramouche freezes, and for the briefest second Childe sees something akin to fear and panic flare to life inside those violet eyes as they widen slightly, but it disappears being quickly replaced by rage.

“I said, let! Go!” he hissed, putting every ounce of his strength into pushing Childe away from him.

Scaramouche wasn’t human, and he didn't have the strength of one. On a good day, he might’ve been able to easily send Childe flying across the room, on this day though that is not the case in fact Childe barely budges still gripping Scaramouche as he stares down at him with that same blank expression.

The air around Scaramouche begins crackling slightly with electro energy and his pupils begin to glow as he draws on the elemental energy in the air.

The effect though is instantly dispersed when that deep ache suddenly punches him in the gut bringing with it an intense wave of nausea that has him squeezing his eyes shut and groaning.

Childe sighed. “See, you can barely even use your powers. Dottore needs to look at you.”

Childe begins pulling Scaramouche into his arms but stops when Scaramouche whimpers and as Scaramouche opens his eyes Childe freezes when he sees the tears gathered there alongside the fear.

“Please,” he whispered, “Please don't bring me to him.”

Scaramouche is literally begging him, his overwhelming fear winning out over his pride for once. He has no doubt that if Childe brings him to Dottore in this state that Dottore will finally take the chance to cut him open, he’d be unable to do anything to fight back no matter how much he tried.

Completely and utterly helpless in every sense of the word.

Childe falls silent as he and Scaramouche merely stare at each other, tears running down the latter's face. It's the genuine fear and desperation visible in Scaramouche’s eyes that lets Childe know that Scaramouche is neither trying to trick him nor exaggerating.

Childe has seen Scaramouche make many expressions since he became a harbinger, contempt, rage, disgust, annoyance, smug but never has he seen the man so viscerally terrified and if Childe was honest it was a bit unnerving. Scaramouche was never supposed to look like that.

Taking a deep breath Childe closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again with a soft sigh, his sympathy and pity winning out. “Okay,” Childe told him softly. “I won’t bring you to him.”

At Childe’s words, Scaramouche gives a sigh of relief, his body relaxing in Childe’s grip as his exhaustion hits him full force.

His vision blurs and he blinks slowly trying to clear it, he’s fighting tooth and nail to stay awake it’s not that he doesn't think Childe was telling the truth about not taking him to Dottore, but the more cautious side of him is too afraid of waking up on the cold familiar metal slab of that examination.

He faintly hears Childe sigh then there's a hand in his hair, gently stroking it. It feels nice admittedly, soothing, and yet strange because neither he nor Childe were people for soft touches and loving words whenever they got together for some fun. But if this is what it was like Scaramouche figured that it wasn’t too bad.

Childe scowls as Scaramouche falls asleep, his body going completely limp in Childe’s grip. He could just leave him here like this, it wasn’t as if Scaramouche wouldn’t have done the same to him if he was in a weakened state like this and yet that thought has the image of Scaramouche’s tear-filled eyes flashing in his mind.

Muttering a curse under his breath Childe carefully placed him back down on the bed. He leaves the room briefly, going to the bathroom he grabs a towel before returning to Scaramouche’s side.

He picks Scaramouche up as carefully as possible, adjusting him so that he was curled up in the crook of his arm, his head resting on Childe’s shoulder.

Childe removes the dirty blanket off of the bed with his free hand, tossing it on the floor before carefully laying Scaramouche back down on the bed on his side. He takes the towel he’d gotten from the bathroom and opens it, lifting Scaramouche’s head slightly; he spreads the towel out beneath it just in case Scaramouche started throwing up in his sleep.

Once that’s finished he begins cleaning up the room, coming from a family as large as his it’s not Childe’s first time taking care of someone who was sick, although he can’t help but wonder if normal medicine would even work on Scaramouche.

It seemed like he just hadn’t thought to take any, but from what Childe knew it was probably because he’d been reluctant to leave his room as his condition got worse. It was also how Childe knew where exactly Scaramouche was, knowing that if he’d disappeared for days on end and he wasn’t sent on a mission then it was most likely that he was sick and hiding in his room.

It was a piece of knowledge he’d stumbled onto by accident one of the few times Scaramouche had let him stay the night here.

After placing a wet washcloth on Scaramouche’s head, and placing some water and medicine on the nightstand Childe goes downstairs to the kitchen to fix him something he could hopefully eat.

~~~

Hot, it was way, way too hot is the first thing Scaramouche begins to register as he slowly wakes up. A soft groan leaves his mouth as he cracks his eyes open slightly, there’s something cold and soft laying on his forehead and he reaches up with a shaky hand feeling wet cloth brush against his fingertips.

Confused and still a bit disoriented from his fever, Scaramouche frowns because he didn’t remember grabbing a wet washcloth before falling asleep.

It takes his slow mind a little bit to truly remember what happened, Childe coming to his room, finding him in this pitiful state, but most of all he remembers Childe promising not to bring him to Dottore.

He closes his eyes for a moment muttering a curse under his breath, Childe knew he was scared of Dottore. One of his most well-kept secrets. Scaramouche doesn’t like this one bit.

Opening his eyes again he carefully props himself up on his aching, trembling limbs pausing for a moment when the nausea still swirling in the pit of his stomach makes itself known and he begins gagging emptily over his lap.

Shaking his head slightly, he takes a deep shuddering as he begins looking around his bedroom. It’s clearly been cleaned and tidied up a bit even some of the blankets on his bed have been changed.

Noticing the medicine sitting on the nightstand Scaramouche gives a soft huff as he sits up all the way. He tosses the pills in his mouth taking small, careful sips from the water. It feels amazing on his still sore and dry throat but he doesn’t want to take the risk of setting off his stomach again.

He’s just setting the half-empty glass on the nightstand and about to lay back down when Childe comes into the room carrying a small metal tray in his hands.

“Well look who’s awake,” Childe chuckled as he approached the bed. He places the tray he’s carrying down on the nightstand, ignoring Scaramouche’s glare as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Why are you-” Scaramouche begins but stops, freezing when Childe suddenly leans forward and brushes his bangs aside to press their foreheads together.

Childe gives a soft hum drawing back after a moment or two as Scaramouche sits there, his eyes wide as he blinks seemingly stunned.

“Your fever is still high,” Childe muttered. “At least you took the medicine though so hopefully it kicks in soon.”

Shaking off his shock, Scaramouche looked at Childe with narrow eyes. “Why are you doing this?” He asked with a scowl. There had to be a reason Childe was helping him, maybe he wanted blackmail, Scaramouche didn’t know.

“Because I want to?” Childe told him as he grabbed the tray off of the nightstand. It had a small bowl of soup on it and Scaramouche glances away when the sight of it sloshing slightly in the bowl makes his stomach turn.

Scaramouche scoffed at Childe’s words. “Because you want to? Bullshit, you want something from me. What is-”

Scaramouche gets cut off when Childe takes the opportunity to shove a spoonful of soup in his mouth.

“Be quiet, you talk too much,” Childe huffed.  “So I guess if there’s one thing I want you to do is for you to shut up for once. Then again if you did it’d be pretty boring.”

Scaramouche said nothing, simply as if he couldn’t believe Childe had just done that to him. He scowls the soup with a scowl, it tastes great, although he wouldn’t admit that to Childe. Almost refreshing, crisp even. It’s not heavy on his tongue either and goes down fairly easily when Scaramouche swallows although it does make his stomach ache slightly .

“Well, how does it taste?” Childe asked with a slight smile. He’s expecting one of Scaramouche’s usual insults.

Surprisingly Scaramouche shrugs slightly. “It’s passable I guess. It didn’t kill me at least so there’s that.”

Scaramouche goes quiet as he allows Childe to feed him again. Maybe Scaramouche just didn’t have the energy to fight Childe tooth and nail like he usually would while in his state.

While Childe doesn’t mind the fact that Scaramouche is being so agreeable it also feels strange. Wrong almost.

“Did you do all of this on your own?” Scaramouche suddenly asked Childe.

Strangely enough, he’d been letting Childe feed him soup for a little while now. If Childe didn’t know any better he’d swear Scaramouche was actually enjoying this.

“You mean the cleaning and everything? Yeah, it was really easy plus I figured you wouldn’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” Childe told him.

Scaramouche rolls his eyes but says nothing as he yawned and stretched, grimacing slightly when his joints seemed to creak. He was already tired again despite not having been up for long.

“I’ll take this downstairs then head back home,” Childe said as he set the empty soup bowl on the tray again.

“Wait,” Scaramouche told him as he was about to walk towards the door.

Childe stops walking and looks at him, Scaramouche opens his mouth only to close it again a scowl on his face his words seemingly failing him for once in his life.

“You can stay here for now. At least until this stops, it’d be annoying to wait for you to come back here in the morning if I needed something,” he murmured looking away, almost as if he were ashamed of asking in the first place.

Childe gives a soft chuckle. “If that’s what you want then sure I don’t mind.”

[zhongliologist]

Missing You | Zhongli

Pairing: Zhongli x gender neutral!reader

Genre: Fluff/ slightly suggestive

Words: 2.5k

A/N: just some brainworms bc the zhongli tag needs more content skskks;; if u liked this, and want the nsfw continuation, pls tell me!!

*

There was only one time of the year where you could meet him.

When a hundred lanterns glow golden like bright cor lapis before a deep dark sky, when Mt. Tianheng itself tremor and bow to its very bosom as the Guili Plains remember the hundreds of battles which shook its very ground, when the rich harbor city flourishes itself with aromatic dishes and throes of lively visitors from afar only to see one single important event.

 There was only one time of the year where you could meet him, and it was only during the Rite of Descension.

 "Did you wait for long?"

 A familiar voice greeted, warm and deep. The book on your hands now brought down to your lap as soon as you heard it, waiting for your visitor to find you sitting by the windy balcony. It didn't take long though when you heard his heavy footsteps and the rustling of his clothes.

 "Zhongli…"

 You whispered solemnly to the wind as you took a side glance at him, seeing that he had never changed even for one bit.

 He still had those piercing amber eyes that seem to know more than he had dared to show; the same silky dark hair tied neatly in a low ponytail which rivals the softness of pink silkflowers in spring, and a tall handsome gait that purports old wisdom and intelligence to anyone he encounters.

 It was really him. Zhongli.

 The only man you ever loved.

 He took one step closer, caressing your cheeks from behind; his eyes softening for a moment when he felt your hands cover his as you melted under his touch. There was something about you that he couldn't quite describe; a certain quality, like a gentle warmth opening inside his chest which made his rigidity crumble into ruins.

 "Your hands are cold," you whispered to the inside of his wrist, giving a small kiss to his skin. Your own hands intertwined with his, gently and slowly touching his fingers as to embed the memory of his touch to your mind, for days when you couldn’t see him.

 “And yours are warm,” he remarked, looking down on you with a ghost of a smile as you gazed up into his eyes. “Warmer than anything I’ve ever touched in this world.”

 A small rumble of a chuckle escaped from your lips. “You always say the most poetic of things.”

At your comment, he raised one elegant brow. “Do you not like it? I could stop if you wish, my love.”

 Nestling into one of his palms, you closed your eyes yet your smile never faltered. “No, please don’t stop. I really like that about you—how you view and describe things with such beautiful words. It makes the world more colorful.”  

 “Is that so?”

 His voice was neutral but you can tell he felt relieved by your response. He may not show much, but to you, he is one incredibly endearing man. The way he would share his love for Liyue’s history and culture to you so enthusiastically; or the way he would be so thoughtful and considerate whenever you felt like the ground would swallow you whole. He has always been your anchor, a rock for you to hold on. Hopefully, he felt the same as well.

 “You’ve given my world so much color, you know?” You replied back with a grin, “So much, that you can hardly imagine.”

 Bent down to steal one small peck from your lips, Zhongli gave a deep chuckle as he stared into your eyes with his own—which to you looked as if they held the secrets of the universe.

 “Ah, would you look at this. You aren’t as bad as a poet either,” he remarked with lilt of a playful tone in his voice. “Perhaps you can sell your own book someday.”

 You snorted, grinning. “Are you teasing me now, Zhongli?”

 “Surely not. Must be your imagination,” he replied before closing the gap between your lips once again.

 This time, you both didn’t let go, just enjoying the feeling of each other’s lips against the other in a slow but sensual kiss. You held on to him tightly as your hands easily finding purchase around his neck, while he kept his hands on your cheeks. Eventually, the both of you pulled away.

 In a breathless whisper, you asked. “Is it my imagination or are you much needier this time?”

 Zhongli can only look at you with eyes mellow and soft, bearing no words of explanation, but for some reason it was enough for you to realize his answer. You cupped his cheek for a moment and gave him another kiss.

 “I missed you, YN.”

 Those words held so much weight compared to everything he had said so far. Those words which directly reflected the turbulent feelings in his heart which he could no longer control. All the longing he had to endure when he was away from you, and the thought of you patiently waiting for this exact moment in time was enough for him to pour it all out in those few measly words which most people take for granted.

 You understood all of that and smiled sweetly at him. “And I’m right here, right now. Let’s enjoy these next few days where we can be together, alright?”

 As his thumb traced circles on your cheeks, the worry in his expression gradually faded away and was replaced by an endearing smile. Yes, there was really something about you that just makes his chest clench so tightly.

 “Why don’t we go inside? It feels a bit drafty out here,” he suggested as he straightened up, refusing to let go of your hand even after you had already stood up and started walking inside the room.

 “So how was it, your business trip?” You asked, placing the book you were reading before on top of a stout cabinet as Zhongli found himself seated on your bed.

 For a moment, he only stared at you with his hand on his chin. “Business trip?”

 “Don’t you go on business trips for almost the entire year?” you asked him, wondering why he could forget such an important detail.

 “Ah, yes. The business trip…,” he replied, still looking as if he was thinking deeply about it. “It was…splendid.”

 “You talk as if you haven’t really been there,” you remarked jadedly, eyes narrowing at him while you untied the heavy braids on your hair.

 “Well, my thoughts are always here in Liyue, and my heart, in you.”

 “You’ve gotten pretty good at sweet talking, haven’t you?” you asked as you pursed your lips. “Childe has been rubbing off on you.”

 To be clearly honest, you always thought Zhongli was a pretty suspicious person. You hardly knew anything about him except for the fact that he works for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and has an abundant knowledge about Liyue and its culture. He never really talks about his family or his childhood. And you were absolutely sure the business trips were phony.

 Where does he go for almost a year then? Why is he only available during the Rite of Descension?

 Well, those were questions which you didn’t really care for the answer.

 “I assure you, my love, that I am only speaking the truth,” he told you indignantly as you got closer to him. “Not a day passes by without me longing for your touch, for the sound of your voice, for your love.”

 “I’ve missed you too, Zhongli,” you replied, grinning as you placed your hands on his shoulders. “You and all of you.”

 There you were standing before him while he easily placed his arms around your waist, drawing you closer to him as if by instinct. Cupping his cheeks, you could only smile at his flattering words; amused by his strange quips.

 “It pains me to know how long you await my arrival every year. How it must have felt lonely to you when I am away, and I am no different. I wish for the day to come where I am allowed to embrace you like this forevermore,” he said as he closed his eyes to feel the gentleness of your fingertips.

 “Wasn’t it you who told me time is irrelevant?” you asked, giggling. “A second may pass by forever; and forever may pass by in a second.”

 “Yes,” he agreed, nuzzling on your chest as his hands roamed your lower back. “Time neither flows forward nor backward. It skips and jumps and goes by in a blink of an eye. There is no arrow of time. I know that all too well.”

 You arched a brow at him. “You do?”

 For once, Zhongli smirked as he deftly guided your back to the bed and hovered just above you. “As a matter of fact, you are no stranger to it as well.”

 “Me?” you asked in bewilderment, wondering where he was going on with this. “I’m sure time moves normally for me.”

 “Ah, was that too cryptic?” he asked when his face was just a few inches away from you. “If words lend no help, then perhaps my actions will make you understand.”

 Without waiting for any reply, Zhongli pressed his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Moving sensually yet at the same time as gently as he could, you couldn’t help but give into the kiss; your arms wrapping around his shoulders without second thought.

 “Zhongli…mmn…” you whispered as you felt his hands creep underneath your clothes. “What…”

 Instead of responding, he only pushed deeper; waiting for a moment to push his tongue pass your lips. You weren’t able to resist him and could only gasp as he intertwined with yours. It left you in a daze as the heat of the moment rushed to your cheeks, making you sweat. You could only cling to him tightly while enjoying a kiss you had waited for almost a year.

 Eventually, he pulled away and glanced at you, breathless and eyes blown wide. Then and there you finally understood what he meant by knowing it all too well, when you felt that the kiss was too short, too fast.

 “It has dawned on you, hasn’t it, my love?” he asked with a smile, before pressing small kisses to your cheeks, to your forehead; then to your nose and tracing back to your lips. “How time often flies too fast…how time often moves too slowly. It’s as if you have become the master of my time.”

 “Funny how you said the exact same thing when we first met,” you replied as you brush his locks away from his face.

 “Have I?” he asked with a thoughtful expression. “That is no surprise, however. You made my whole day vanish in a second.”

 Without removing your hands from his cheeks, you gently caressed him as you replied. “Did you enjoy my company that much?”

 “In fact, I do,” he said as he gazed right into your eyes, as if putting you under his spell. “Not too many have an interest in Liyue’s past traditions in this present day. It was a wonder to have met you that day.”

 “Well, it is my job as a scholar to research about these things It’s only natural for me to be interested,” you told him. “It’s amazing how meeting you felt too long ago, and now we’re here.”

 To Zhongli, those were days when time seemed to move in a snail’s pace. Days crept and months crawled so slowly as the growing desire to see you only became stronger and more prominent.  Whenever he was away from you, he was worried he might not see you again when he returns to Liyue. Year after year, that fear was simply exacerbated by his greed for your love.

 “You are my one and only, YN,” he told you as he stole one chaste kiss before nuzzling on your shoulders, and taking in your scent. “I shall do everything in my power in order to be with you. Even if I have to make a deal with the devil. I promise you that.”

 You could only sigh at his declaration. There was no way you could possibly convince him out of that thought—it wasn’t obvious, but he can be fairly stubborn. Yet even so, you’ll try.

 “Zhongli, you don’t have to do anything. I am content with waiting for you. Even if I feel lonely, even if I we can’t be together like other couples do, I’ll stay with you because you’re the only person I will ever love.”

 You continued after a beat as he lifted his head up to gaze into your eyes; his amber orbs glimmering against the reflection of the night.

 “If time moves however it wants to, and the concept of the ‘past’ and the ‘future’ no longer matter, then I will only think about the ‘present’,” you replied, your hand brushing his long silky hair, feeling the strands between your fingers. “A present where you and I exist at the same place and at the same time is all that matters now.”

 As you said those words, Zhongli caught your hand and began kissing your fingers gently one by one. By now, he might’ve kissed you for a hundredth time already. Maybe at the end of the night, the number will go so far as to a million.

 “Very well said, my love,” he remarked with a smile, still not done kissing your palm. “How is it that you know exactly what I feel?”

 “I could say the same to you.” You grinned as you held on to his coat, “Now, take these off. We don’t have all night.”

 Zhongli raised a brow at you with a rather enigmatic smile as he sat up straight. “As far as I remember, have you not told me that you care not for time?”

 You pursed your lips at his subtle teasing. “Do you want me or not?”

 Making a low chuckle, Zhongli simply glanced at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. While he may not be the type to flirt as much, he just knows what buttons to push to make you feel like putty in his hands.

 “Forgive me, my love.” He crawled back to you, easily unfastening his coat and vest, as it slid on the floor with a loud rustle. “I was unaware of your excitement. Allow me to rectify.”

 “You want this as much as I do,” you retorted back as your arms easily wrapped themselves around his broad shoulders. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

 Zhongli scoffed and smirked as he threw his tie right on the floor—that looked downright sexy. “There is nothing to correct.”

 In a heartbeat, Zhongli once again captured your lips, and it was nothing like before. Passion burning like a wildfire as your lips moved against each other in a frenzy; breaths too heavy as excitement made your heart pound in erratic beats. Every kiss you could’ve shared in a single year poured into one moment, as he pushed deeper into your mouth; as his hands easily found your skin to touch.

 “Zhongli…wait!” You muttered breathlessly as he moved to pepper kisses down your jaw and to your neck.

 “I have waited long enough, my love,” he replied, his lips now nibbling on your earlobe; his unbuttoned shirt easily revealing his toned chest as he moved closer to you. 

“I cannot wait for much longer.”

[alpacaparkaseok]

Walk Away

inspired by the song “Hold On Me” by Ella Henderson. Listen to it while you read if you’d like to cry with me.

He scares me when he gets that look. 

I’ve realized that it doesn’t necessarily happen at a certain time of day or location. I’m not sure what it is that triggers it, but every so often I’ll turn and see Jimin looking at me with this look that terrifies me.

He looks at me like I’m his whole world.

This time it happens as I’m sitting on my bed, looking out over the mess of boxes and clothes that have yet to be packed. He comes to stand at the doorway, about to ask how I’m feeling about moving back home tomorrow but he stops in his tracks. 

When I catch him staring, he doesn’t stop. In fact, the longer I think about it and all the past experiences with it, I’m starting to think that maybe he doesn’t even know about it. 

“How’s it coming?” He asks quietly, his typically chipper self muted in the face of me moving halfway across the world. 

“I don’t remember having this much stuff when I first moved here.”

He laughs lightly, the sound reminding me of twinkling stars as he tiptoes around the mess to sit beside me. “I don’t think you did.”

The familiar dip in the bed beside me has me clenching my jaw, fighting against the onslaught of sweet memories where we would sit just like this: perched on the edge of my bed, talking late into the night until exhaustion or Sejin calling Jimin to remind him that he had to get up early the next morning pulled him away. 

“This is exhausting,” I sigh, flopping back against the bed. Jimin watches me fall, a smile gracing his features before it’s wiped clean. 

“Yeah, you’ve been packing all day-”

“I don’t mean physically,” I interrupt him, staring up at the ceiling. “Emotionally.”

It’s silent, and I prop myself up on my elbows to see Jimin staring at me with that same expression as before. Glancing at my boarding pass that’s sitting on the bedside table, I throw caution to the wind. 

“What’s that about?” I ask.

Jimin blinks at me, the soft look in his eyes never faltering. “What?”

“That...look.”

His eyes widen a bit. “What look? What are you talking about?”

Giving him a mischievous grin, I sit back up and adjust to sit cross-legged beside him. “You know what I'm talking about. You always get this look at the most random moments.”

“They’re not random!”

“Aha!” I shout. “So you do know what I’m talking about.”

Jimin groans, his face flushed as he gets up. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

I frown, wanting him to sit back down but he remains standing before me. “Why shouldn’t I? Is now a bad time for you?” I tease, making him roll his eyes. 

“Yes, it is.” He responds sharply, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

That wasn’t what I was expecting. 

“...ok, am I missing something here?” I ask, growing annoyed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I almost finished packing up the dishes, I’ll just go finish then get out of your hair.”

Before I can say anything else Jimin sweeps out of the room, leaving me with my mouth gaping. We’ve never argued, we rarely even get annoyed with each other. So why now?

“Today sucks,” I mumble to myself, falling back against my bed and staring up at the ceiling. The sounds of Jimin packing in the kitchen are all I can hear, but I find no comfort in them. Not when I know that something isn’t right between us. 

Groaning a little as I get up off the bed, I’m nearly out the door when I hear a crash. 

“Jimin?” I call out, running into the hallway and hearing him mumble out a string of curses. 

Entering the kitchen I see Jimin with a broom already in hand, crouching down and sweeping up the remains of one of my mugs. He hears me enter, looking at me over his shoulder.

His eyes are red-rimmed as he sniffles. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean- I wasn’t paying attention and it just slipped-”

“It’s ok,” I reassure him, going to step closer to him but jumping back as he holds his hand up.

“Wait! Let me sweep the whole floor first.”

Going back to stand in the hallway, I’m absolutely bewildered as he makes sure to sweep every inch of the floor before throwing the fragments into the garbage.

“What’s going on, Jiminie?”

He stands with his back to me, refusing to turn around as he clings to the broom handle. “Nothing,” he whispers, his voice thick with what I can only assume are unshed tears. 

I feel a sharp pang knowing that he’s struggling so much, and I tiptoe over to him before he can order me back out into the hallway. 

He stiffens as I come up behind him and wrap my arms around his middle, resting my cheek against his back. I don’t even realize that I’m holding my breath until I feel him sigh.

Jimin drops one hand to rest on my clasped ones, his head dropping. “I’m sorry.”

Squeezing him a little tighter, I move to rest my forehead between his shoulder blades. “It’s ok.” I pause. “Will you please tell me what’s going on with you today? You’ve been distant all day.”

He tenses again. “I...” Resting the broom against the counter, he spins around to face me. His lips form a pout as he looks down at me with the same look as before, stronger than ever. “Don’t leave.”

I frown up at him, matching his pout. “I can’t stay-”

“Yes, you can. Hear me out,” he adds before I can interrupt him. “I’ve been looking at apartments for you, I found one that I think you’d love! It’s only a couple of blocks down from me, isn’t that great?”

“You live in a gated community! Any place near there are probably more expensive than my year’s wages!”

“I’ll help you! I know the guy that owns them, it’s really cool. He flips apartments! Y’know, kind of like flipping houses, but apartment style! And there’s this one that has this cute yellow door and I convinced him to hold it for me-”

“Jimin, I can’t stay.”

“You’re not listening to me. You can. I’ll help you. I know you hate that, but just swallow your pride for once and stay. Don’t- don’t go.”

If he looks at me like that for another second, I think I’ll fall apart right here in his arms. His eyes are wide, like he’s afraid to miss a single breath I take, shining with some sort of adoration I didn’t realize I deserved. 

I certainly won’t after this.

Closing my eyes against the knowledge of what I have to do, I press my face up against his chest. His arms immediately encircle me, holding me tight as he breathes in deeply. 

“Jiminie,” I mumble against his sweatshirt. “I can’t.”

What Jimin will never understand is that he was never mine to have. The idea that I could actually have Park Jimin has never crossed my mind. Especially not after he gave me tickets to his most recent concert. 

Seeing all those people absolutely mesmerized by him...it was a sort of revelation for me. They cried for him, professed their undying love, and just watched him. 

It was when I realized that they watched him with the same love that I felt that I knew that Jimin was not meant to be mine. 

How could I steal him away?

For now, I cling to him as much as he clings to me, all the unspoken words between the two of us crashing down until I have to come up for air. 

When I look back up at him, I see that something has changed in his eyes. 

“You’re leaving.”

It’s not a question, but I answer him nonetheless. “I have to.”

He shakes his head. “No, you want to. This is your choice.”

Heart cracking until it splits, I shake my head, biting back the tears. “No, Jiminie. I have to. Y-you don’t understand, I-”

“I understand enough,” he bites out, hesitating for a moment longer before removing his arms from me. I instantly feel the chill of his absence. “And don’t call me that.”

He begins to walk away, and I stand there like a fool as I watch him. Heart bleeding and my body numb, I watch as Jimin walks toward the door. 

“I finished packing up everything in the kitchen,” he mutters, not even bothering to look at me. “If you need any more help, I’ll send the boys over.”

“Jimin-”

He turns around, one hand on the door. “It really is a beautiful apartment, you know. It has that view you always talked about wanting, and a perfect spot to set your plants. And I talked to the neighbors, too. They’re a retired couple.”

My breathing is broken now as I blindly step toward him, hating the look that once made me so nervous. Hating that this is my reality, and I’m too afraid to change it. Too far gone now, looking at the way he’s gazing at me like I might still change my mind. Like I’m going to stop him from leaving.

“I want to come back,” I choke out. “I want to come back, even if I can’t stay. Please don’t leave like this.”

Jimin gives me a small, brokenhearted smile. “I’m not the one that’s leaving.” Opening up the door, Jimin looks back at me one more time as though expecting me to shout after him, telling him that I’ve changed my mind. 

I can’t, though. Not as I remember the girl that sat beside me at the concert, telling me about how Jimin had saved her life. How she loved him just the way he was right now, how she felt like they shared a special bond. 

It’s her words that echo through my mind as the door softly closes.

“I just feel like I know him, you know? He’s everything to me. And he’ll never know that, but I guess I’ll just keep cheering him on from afar. That’s all I can do. But I love him. And I’ll love him forever, I think.”

masterlist

This was...depressing lol. But I’m working on a Jimin series rn and I’m just so soft for him. Anyway, does this deserve a part 2? What do you guys think?

part 2!

[miss-choco-chips]

Favorite color

Ever since he was born, his world was filled with colors, a beautiful rainbow at his fingers. He’d look down at them at night, or when his parent’s leaving made him want to cry, or when a horror story told by a classmate in the playground scared him half to death, and find comfort in their silky touch and bright hues.

He was seven when he learned the meaning behind them. And the blaring lack of red signaled the first, but not last, heartbreak of his life.

Blue, green, purple, black… and bright yellow. A teacher, a missed opportunity, a first love, life and death… and friendship. No eternal love for Tim, it seemed.

Well. He hadn’t really expected any different. Who would love him forever, when his own parents didn’t?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He had forgotten it, and it escaped his notice for many years. Until one night, following Dick Grayson as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, when he noticed his purple string moving in synch with him. Pointing towards his hero, the boy who had given him his very first hug that night at the circus. His First Love, his Not Meant to Be.

That night, Tim packed up early and went home. He just couldn’t stand the red uniform contrasting sharply with his purple thread.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Dick left, he thought maybe now he could go back to his old habits, to run the streets looking for flashes of the new robin without the baggage of avoiding to look at his own hand.

No such luck.

The green made a whole lot of sense when news of Jason’s death reached him, tough.

It wouldn't be the last night he’d cry himself to sleep, holding the frayed ends of his fated Almost.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Becoming Robin was both easy and painful. Comfortable, because the blue string pointing him towards Bruce meant this was always supposed to happen; heartbreaking, because it took a kid dying. Because Tim might not have a romantic soul mate, but his hands, that had made a green string break to grant him access to the blue path, were stained red nonetheless.

Wearing Robin’s red, with all the hurt and bad memories it carried, felt like a subpar punishment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Meeting his Yellows almost passed his awareness. In the middle of a crisis, every adult missing, no mentor to guide him, he couldn’t exactly spare a thought for the kids looking shellshocked at him, each other and their hands.

After, when Young Justice was officially formed, he firmly avoided looking at Bart, Superboy and Wondergirl. Their eyes followed him, pleading, but he’d learned no good ever came from strings that weren’t red.

And the red in his soul wasn’t from love.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Despite himself and his best efforts, they grew closer. Life or death situations had that effect on people, after all.

His own reluctance, which had in turn provoqued Kon’s anger, Bart’s dejection and Cassie’s confusion, slowly began to crumble. He was helpless in the face of their unrelenting friendship.

The strings grew shinier, stronger, healthier, the yellow a stark contrast to frayed (dead) green, cold blue, distant purple. Scary black.

Tim still despised the rainbow in his fingers, but… he could maybe withstand the sparks of yellow he’d catch from the corner of his eye, knowing just who were at the other end.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It wasn’t exactly team training. Greta, Anita, Cissie, Slobo and the others didn’t join them, for whatever reason. It was always the four of them, leaning on and learning from each other.

When Kon’s strength frustrated him, when the world around him seemed to be made of bubbles and sea foam, Tim stayed late at night every weekend to help. Every spare moment directed towards coaching him, again and again, through exercises he had to come by himself (Clark was no big help, here), until exhaustion made his muscles tremble and Kon’s anger had burned out from frustration to soft acceptance that he just wasn’t like the rest. Until he could hold still and let Superboy trace the side of his jaw with a careful finger, and exchange proud little smiles when his face remained unbroken.

Bart being raised by video games had the expected outcome; he had little to no practical, day to day life knowledge. He was the closest living thing to a Looney Toon. Which was fun and good when crime fighting, his crazy ideas often saved their ass last minute, but unacceptable if integrating him into society was to be considered. So Tim would take him out, hand in hand so he didn’t forget himself and ran on his own, to leisurely stroll down busy streets, arcades, schools, libraries. Talk to people in parks and visit recreational centers, barter with street vendors and ask the little boy selling flowers on Jump Street how his mother is doing. Whatever Tim could think of that would soften Bart’s cultural shock.

In that regard, Cassie was a godsend. With her own attentive mentor, and raised like a normal girl until she obtained her powers, she was the most well balanced member on their team. Tim had started to feel a little restless (how can he help her, how can he convince her to stay…), when he noticed her frustrated, sad face whenever Donna was mentioned on Tv, when any reporter or older hero compared the two Wonder Girls. Familiar as he was with imposter syndrome, Tim would rest his arm around her shoulders and turn to the rest of the team, loudly reminding everyone to ‘speed up guys, Cassie here’s already done with her training routine’ or slump tiredly against her while complaining about ‘how immature they are, I can’t deal, thank God you’re here to remind me competent people do exist’.

It was familiar, to help them along. To nudge them forward and watch their backs as they went, firmly making their way towards being the awesome men and woman he knew they’d become. Lending a hand here and there, working on steading their foundations, so he’d be remembered fondly when they inevitably took off and went on with their lives.

He was used to that, to looking for ways his fated people would want him around. Being a good brother to Dick, an eager student to Bruce (a good mourner for Jason).

What he wasn’t used to was reciprocation, though.

Tim had learned how to fly from the best, from Dick Grayson himself.The boy with no powers that looked at gravity and laughed, sayed “thanks, but no”. But there were some things only a true meta could experience, ways to move his body just so, to take advantage of wind currents to either speed or slow his movements. Kon also visited him in Gotham, unknowing or uncaring about its meta restriction, risking pissing off Batman himself just to spend time with Tim.

There was Bart, kind, cute, friendly Bart, who would stop eating and playing around to drag Tim to the training grounds and run laps around him, as silently as he knew how. Making Tim used to fighting against someone quicker than him, lighter on their feet. To count incredibly soft steps even when they made no sound, and use other senses to pinpoint exactly where the next hit was going to come from. And after they were done, there was always a warm smile and some sweet treat (always different, as if Bart was determined to figure out Tim’s preferences by trial and mistake), the new knowledge and delicious prize worth the dirt in unmentionable places.

As stated before, Cassie was an absolute godsend. But it wasn’t just because she was easier to deal with than the rest. Or because she understood the pressure he had on his shoulders, being raised in the shadow of two incredibly renowned heroes. When Tim’s position as leader had been taken away (after Bruce’s plans for taking out the league became known, and ‘what if he has the same for us’), she took him aside. Hugging him, promising him the team’s anger was going to pass, that she could see why those contingencies might be necessary, that even if she was officially in charge, she’d always defer to him when it mattered. Her trust in him and his heart was unshakable, firm as the arm he’d put round her when self doubt arose its head.

(It wasn’t supposed to be this way; if they reciprocated, they didn’t owe him, and then how was he supposed to keep them close? To convince him to stay, to love the boy with loveless fate?)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jason was unexpected, but Tim couldn’t hold it against him. Even there, bleeding out in the Tower, he felt… at ease.

His predecessor was back. Bruce’s son was back. The prodigal Robin had returned, by some miracle. Tim’s shift had come to an end; even if he died here, he had succeeded in keeping Bruce sane, and now that the real deal was in town, Jason could take over and everything would go back as it should have been. Everyone (B, Dick, Babs, Alfred) would be happier. Maybe they’d mourn him, for a bit, but with such a joyous occasion as a beloved one returning home, it wasn’t like grief could stay for long.

Someone yelled, near. Warm hands shaking as they touched his face infinitely careful, small fingers intertwined with his in a very familiar hold, a strong and slender arm around his back as he’s being held in a half hug. Cries, pleas, demands.

And while nothingness claims Tim, drags him to a well of black, yellow still clings to his eyelids. A touch that keeps him warm even though unconsciousness is supposed to be so cold.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Death and life. Damian.

Tim can see the first one, what with all of the brat’s attempts to end him. It’s the second one that has him stumped.

He knows not all strings go both ways. His purple one, for example; even if Dick was Tim’s first love, everyone and their mother knew Babs’ was his. Dick had a string pointing towards Tim, but it was a mentor-student one. Same as the one he and Bruce shared. Jason, too; Tim’s side of the string was the green of Almost, while the former Robin’s color was black (Tim taking his place as Robin, and being the only one in the family offering his hand again and again despite his murderous actions, was in some poetic sense the death of an old role, and the birth of a new family dynamic).

Damian, though… Well. He was almost sure they had the same color for each other (how else to explain such dangerous rage), but really, unless the kid was willing to share, it was only suppositions for now.

His only comfort remained the three beams of light, of a yellow almost golden in its healthy shine.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Tim changed his suit following Conner’s death, everyone thought it was an homenage. A way to pay tribute to a hero that was his closest, dearest friend. A way to never forget (as if he could, ever, with the lifeless line of pale beige, once yellow, dangling from his twitching finger).

They weren’t wrong, but it wasn’t just that.

Red had always pained him, in a deep, almost forgotten place. A thorn on his side, scratching against his heart. For the longest part, yellow had filled him to the brim, until hurt and yearning had no place inside him. With Kon’s warmth missing, red bleed in the place between Cassie and Bart, despite their best efforts to close ranks and keep it out.

Their sad eyes followed him during the funeral, knowing what the color meant to him. Just how much he was hurting himself, right now. But, lost in their own grief, there was little to be done.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

By the time Tim got the call about Bart, he already knew.

He ignored the ringing phone, holding a sobbing Cassie in his arms, both desperately clutching at their only remaining yellow string.

Between the two of them, color like blood seeped.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Every so often, when Ra’s voice in his ear became too familiar for comfort, where lines draw in sand begane to erode and blur, he’d raise his hand, eyes locked on the three yellow strings, and watch as Cassie’s moved, disappearing end pointing always in her direction.

He was fairly sure that, wherever she was, she was doing the same. Reminding herself he was alive as well, hadn’t left her behind.

Her absence from his life was necessary, finding Bruce a priority, and the red of his new suit (his new name) was proof of just how deeply it all ran. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t yearning for her lighter color.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They were back, and he was hiding.

He wanted to run to their arms, hug them and never let them out of his view, far from where he could protect them (keep them). He wanted Kon’s hand on his face, delicate despite his strength, un-trembling when Tim’s own would softly join it on his check and held it there; Bart’s fingers between his own, too steady and constant for the boy who didn’t know how to sit still; Cassie’s arm on his waist, his own on her back, as they shared the weight of the world in their shoulders.

And because he wanted so damn much, he couldn’t do it.

He was covered in red. His first love discarded him, his Almost died so Tim could have his Teacher, his Life and Death was so heavily focused on the last bit… his hands lacked red, but oh, how much he leaked of it in his soul.

He couldn’t let them die again, be stained by his twisted fate; even if it meant he could’t hold them close any longer.

Letting go was more painful than holding on, but he was used to it by now.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They find him. Of course they do; even without Kon’s senses, they all have beams of gold pointing them towards him, like Dorothy’s yellow brick road.

Tim knew it, was ready for it. And as such, had prepared the words that would push them away, to where it was safer.

Or so he thought.

“We are not leaving you.”

“Who cares about fate? You are ours, Rob.”

“It’s been long enough, Tim. Time to come home, we are done waiting.”

He denies them, shakes despite his usual iron clad control over his body, heart wrenching painfully at their decided expressions.

“You don’t understand. I’m Red Robin now. I’m not… I’m no good for you.”

“I could literally snap your back with the flick of a finger, shut up with that ‘I’m dangerous’ bullshit.”

“Yeah, even Bart could be dangerous given the right circumstances, you aren’t the only one here to watch for. It doesn’t mean shit to us.”

‘

“That’s right, I- wait, what do you mean ‘even Bart?”

“Not the point, Imp.”

They don’t get it. He takes his mask off, wants to give them a good look at his eyes, to read his emotions there and finally realize what’s wrong about him.

“Almost all my strings have something to do with death, or were touched by it. Don’t you see it?” He raises his hand, despite knowing they can’t see his strings, only their own. “I have no red here, only blood. I can’t… I’m not safe to love. I’ll never be loved.”

Kon snaps, something he had rarely done since their Young Justice days, hands on Tim’s shoulders, seemingly torn between shaking him and pulling him close. The latter wins.

(As it always does)

“This is love, you idiot! WE love you!”

Tim chokes on something (saliva, his own breath, emotions). Gasps, tears coming to his eyes unbridled.

He feels two pairs of arms joining the first one, a cocoon of warmth and unconditional love forming around him.

Bart’s sad eyes watch Tim from under Kon’s hug. “I don’t have red either, Rob. Romantic, platonic, filial… who gives a fuck”, he shrugs, before hiding his face against the red of Tim’s uniform. Uncaring of all it represents for him or perhaps doing his best to defy it.

Cassie just holds them all in the circle of her own embrace, forehead to the back of Tim’s head. Her hold is the tightest, and he just realizes- she lost all of them, didn’t she? To death and grief, all too far to touch, and now that they’re back in her arms, there’s little chance of her ever letting go again.

“Love has more than one form, Tim.”

He shudders in the middle of this weirdly emotional dog pile, and thinks. About Bruce and Dick’s pride when they successfully taught him something new. Of Jason’s reluctant smile when Tim first tugged him along to some joined patrol, sneakily edging him closer to the family with every interaction. Of Damian, who would often look down at his own hands (and Tim would honestly kill someone to know just which color the young boy had for Tim) and then at him, with something like hope in his green eyes.

He thinks… yeah. And this one…

(He gives up, closing his eyes and snuggling deeper into Kon’s chest, knees buckling but staying up thanks to his three rays of sunlight holding him in place between them.)

This one’s shape might just be his favorite.

[withoneheadlight]

oh man that one with billy convincing steve to skip work has got me thinking trophy husband billy

Oh, anon! 💗💗💗💗adkahdshdhdkhkhdYESSS. I LOVE this idea!

And I’m SURE he would be the happiest trophy husband. And also the kind that's showy. Has so much fun going over the top with it, being gossip material. All cliché-y, and Diva-like. Basically confirming what everyone thinks about him (about them) precisely because it’s the diametrically opposed to what it really is.

Doing things like:

Mowing the lawn in mini-mini-shorts. Working on his tan on their lovely backyard on the sunny Sunday Summer mornings (in that exact spot where –coincidentally– Mr. Walker, their blatantly homophobic next door neighbor, would have to get out of his own backyard with his eyes closed not to see). Being reaaaally polite with everyone around (Mr. Walker included), smiling and waving his hand like “Hiiii, Janice! How did that new face treatment go?” because they live in a Nice Place now, six years after Robert Harrington made Steve climb his way up the company ladder right from the bottom “Exactly like everyone else”, both as a punishment and a trial; after working their asses out of their shitty one-bedroom apartment, having to prove themselves in every single step (as Steve and Billy, but also as SteveandBilly), but,

Here they are.

And now Steve has a very good job, one he’s genuinely good at, one that pays for much more than hardly the bills and maybe having dinner out from time to time. And they’re happy and they are together and they fucking made it, despite barely anyone around them given two shits. Now, Steve slicks his wild hair back from Monday to Friday, wears the nicest suits, so fitting and sexy and oh so preppy Billy sometimes gets a hard-on just from seeing them all together in the dressing room, hanging in a perfectly tidy line, made of the same material of sins.

So. 

He just doesn’t see the point in not treating himself every once in a while.  Make Steve run late for work or not getting there at all. In no letting himself enjoy the way those tailored beauties emphasize the shape of Steve’s glorious ass. Enjoy the certainty that in a big, stylish, impeccably neat office downtown, Steve’s dad is rolling his eyes all the way back into their sockets.

And also.

In not letting himself revel in the exhilarating feeling of sliding full into this ‘hot-mess trophy hubby’ persona almost everyone around them assumes he is. Steve’s Harrington boy-toy. “That California scum. Must be real good at sucking dick to get a deal like that.” Make the rumors roll down the small streets of Hawkins and under the door of his own father’s house. Thrive in the knowledge that every time Neil Hargrove hears any or those rumors or gets even the tiiiniest glimpse of them two together, going out and about holding hands,  feels like he’s about to puke his guts out thinking about what his son has ‘become’.

And aside from that, he kind of––enjoys, this trophy husband thing, to be honest. It’s been ten years since they got together now. Billy likes to keep things spiced-up. So when Steve is promoted and they move to be close to the new office, along with the house Billy buys a pair of powder pink slippers, fluffy ball of floating fur on top, and a see-through, fur-riveted robe to match. Some days he goes to his morning cockteling&tanning session in the backyard wearing only that (“Heeeey! How ya doin’ Mr. Walker?”). Kisses Steve goodbye long and filthy at the door, where everyone can see, opening the robe wide to wrap it around them both together, pressing their bodies flush, biting at his ear and whispering “Bring me a diamond when you come back, honey bunny” making Steve snort but say "You deserve a million of them, babe" making Billy melt, feel a bit like he's dripping love out of all the pores of his body, making a puddle that will permanently stain the glamorous white marble of the entryway as he waves Steve goodbye, scratches with feign indifference at the trail of fair hairs coming out his flashy-green pants to counteract the way Steve's killer smile makes him blush as hard as the first time, a whole decade away, that cold November night when he grabbed Billy by the collar of his T-shirt and said "I'm gonna kiss you. And then you're gonna punch me. And I don't care.”

It’s like a fucking fairytale. The way things were going? The most Billy expected out of life was live if fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse behind. But now, he’s got the guy of his dreams. He’s got a life he could have never dreamed of. He’s got Steve, now. Steve, who’s good, is caring. Always fights him back. Doesn’t buy any of the shit he tries to pull off. Steve, who's got lips like that moment the earth forgets about gravity when you’re riding down the hill of a rollercoaster. Got eyes that can rip out of you promises you never thought you'd make (like: I do and forever and not even death). That always see Billy when they look at him.

And now, he gets to wake up every morning before he does, put the Moka pot on the stove. Gets to see Steve’s sleepy face right after rolling out of bed, hair still untamed, pouty lips, bare feet dragging over the floor. See the way he beams, smile wide and devastatingly sweet when Billy tells him “I made you coffee, babe”. Gets Steve kissing him like a daydream, laying him over the kitchen table, fucking him before even touching breakfast with his fancy pink robe on.

And Billy thought he would have to change. Give something, to have something. Didn’t really mind. Too lucky to complain. Thought he would have to stop being mean once they got married. Play the tamed part. Thought he was going to have to behave to fit into the rich and respectable life they had landed at. But. No-No. Rich people? They’re way meaner than regular people, turns out. Billy’s just been upgraded to play for the Asshole’s World Championship Cup.

And he’s always been good at sports.

So he goes to the hair salon the afternoon before any important event. Gets a facial. Does his nails. Buys new clothes. Gets all Pretty Woman on himself just so Steve can show him off. And oh. OH. OHHH. Steve does show him off. To his dad. His mom. The whole party. Doesn’t give a fuck about whatever people keeps on whispering behind their backs. Offers his arm to Billy and Billy clings to him, keeps his chin up. He’s never been as afraid of anything as much as Steve not loving him back. He’s fearless now. Because here they are. So he lets Steve walk him through the crowd as the King he was born like. Brilliant. Proud. Letting Billy to deal with the vultures if he fancies to do that.

“Awwww. But look at you!! Anyone can tell you two are soooo in love!”

Fake boobs. Fake Louboutins. Fake Smile. Billy is Queen Bee now. He’s got this.

“Oh, no Miss Treadaway. I dearly appreciate you noticing how good my acting skills are. But it’s exactly as you said to Miss Walton the other day. I only married Stevie here because he’s got a big dick and it’s loaded. And he only married me because of how good I look on all fours. You’re too perceptive to hide it!”

But with Steve’s parents? With Steve’s parents Billy is relentlessly n i c e.  When Robert Harrington won’t even look at him. When Crystal Harrington blows saccharine all over him like in a bad magic trick, deceivingly sweet when she says, “Well William. Maybe it's time you get a real job too now our Steven is running his own branch" cold war buzzing between them when Billy spreads his most honest, open smile, not a millimeter of animadversion showing “But I already have a real job, Crystal. I take care of your son. And there’s also, you know, that side thing I do of running Garage” making her fingers clutch hard around her cup of fine champagne, making Steve’s lips fight to repress a grin, eyes fond, and soft and in love. And Billy will do whatever it takes, endure whatever he has to, if what he gets in return is this:  the way the narrow space keeping them apart feels like inevitability when they're about to kiss.

And everyone thought he was going after the money, when they married. Most still do. But Billy never actually asked for diamonds. Well, not for real. But he gets one anyway. Tenth anniversary and counting. It shines unreal on his finger, as much as this life he has now, as the liquid shine of Steve’s eyes when he says “They come from fire, just like you. I always thought they would fit so well. And looks like I was right” and just a few years before, Billy would have said “This is too much, I can’t take it” too afraid Steve would get the wrong impression too, too afraid to not be up to him. But now, he understands, that this is just another way Steve is trying to take care of him, to show him love. So now, Billy lets Steve spoil him as much as he wants. Take him out for dinner without reason. Hand him a sealed envelope saying, “What about showing me that ocean you love so much?” Kissing him in front of everyone, all the time, ringed fingers intertwined.

Lets him buy them a California King just to make a stupid joke, get Billy Hargrove to blush.

“We can ditch all of this, if you’re not happy. You know that, right? I don’t care about anything else as long as it’s you and I”

Billy shakes his head. “I am happy, pretty boy. Happier than I ever thought I could be” Tickles Steve’s nose with the fluffy, pink fuzz all around his robe until he sneezes and chuckles. “But I wanna know,” he says, tone pouty and tragic “It is true, what everybody says? Am I really a trophy husband?”

Steve shuffles closer, rumbles low in his throat. It’s an early Sunday morning. They’re gonna spend all time left until breakfast fucking in bed. Then cockteling&tanning together ‘till lunch. And then, after, he’s sure he can convince Steve to put on one of those gorgeous suits, let Billy grind against the soft fabric, make a mess out of him. Make him beg and squirm. Pull down his fly real slow, down on his knees. Suck him off. Eat him out. Make him moan I love yous brighter than diamonds when Billy gets inside him. But right now, Steve just kisses him silly, lowers down the covers to take a look down, at his leopard print, see-through, hideous new briefs. The cheapest ones he could find.

Because Billy’s trash. Will always be trash.

“Oh yeah, babe. You are. A fucking trophy. The best anyone could have”

But he’s posh trash now.

💎

The original post (xxxx) xD 💍

[onepiece-writting-forest]

“Apology.”

Setting:  One Piece Universe; Zoro x Reader

Word Count: 1765

Summary: You damaged his sword a few times now and Zoro was clearly sick of it. He was frustrated which lead into anger. Anger he targeted at you. You knew he was right, and decided to apologize to him properly. This couldn’t end like this. 

!Credit to the Artist!

“That's the third time now, enough!”

He barked at you like a wild dog, and snatched the sword out of your hands. You wanted to use them a bit, just to see how it would be with a sword. He gave you permission a few times now and watched over you. He taught you some easy techniques and was quite excited to give you all of his knowledge. However, you always used his swords and in your inexperienced hands it happened that you harmed the blade. He told you to get yourself your own weapon, but since it was rather just to try out and not actually your weapon of choice for combat, you didn’t.

This was the third time. The third time you tried something with it, and accidentally cracked the tip of the sword. Zoro was patient in the beginning, he knew that it took time to learn it. But his weapons were not your toys when you were bored. He made this very clear. You watched him push it back into it’s scabbard before he stepped closer to you. The way he stood in front of you was threatening. Like a wild animal ready to lash out. He didn’t care that you were a crew member nor his friend. He had told you to be careful several times and this was enough.

“Get your own god damn sword. I’m sick of having to repair them all the time only you can play. This isn’t a game, Y/N. Swordsmanship is not a fucking game.”

You wanted to yell back and protest, however your words were stuck in your throat. You knew he was right, but you were too stubborn to admit it. Your pride was stopping you from actually listening to him and your impulsiveness had made you do it three times now. You’ve never seen him this angry and it scared you. Your body instinctively stepped back and you flinched at his words. Zoro was still standing in front of you, eyebrows deeply narrowed. His body language spoke aggression, which he tried to hold back. You made the string of patience rip.

Quickly you left the crows nest and disappeared into your shared room with the other two ladies. Nami and Robin had heard your argument and looked at each other, before following you into the bedroom. With your friends by your side, you quietly cried over your mistake.

“It’s better you apologize to him. As mad as he is, he will calm down after you do.”

“Are you sure? I doubt he wants to see my face again.” You sniffed and clinged onto your pillow. Robin nodded reassuringly and gently stroke your back. She didn’t want to remind you that what you did was indeed somewhat stupid, and Zoro was right. Nami was in the same boat. It was better to look ahead and look for a solution to get along with your crewmate again.

“Of course. I remember when Usopp wanted to leave the crew and basically dragged Luffy through the mud, Zoro gladly accepted him back when he apologized. He’s a simple man Y/N, and in no way someone who holds grudges for a long time.” Nami smiled at you and gave you a tissue to wipe those tears away. Hearing that, made you think for a moment. They’ve told you that story before, they probably knew the swordsman better than you did, considering you were rather new in comparison to Nami and Robin. You nuzzled your face into the pillow a bit and nodded.

“I will. Thank you.”

The next day when Zoro woke up, his hand automatically grabbed to his swords. With a yawn he put them besides his hip where they belonged to. Wado Ichimonji, Kitetsu...Shusui…wait.

“Shusui?” Confused he looked around in the room. His third sword was missing. He swore he left it next to him. He looked in his bed, in his closet, in the other beds and closets. It couldn’t be...did he leave it in the crows nest? He remembered he put all three swords aside before he went to sleep. “Fuck where did I leave it…” He mumbled to himself and looked through everything again. No matter how many times he looked in the room, he couldn’t find it.

Frustrated he walked on deck and searched there for his weapon. Usopp was sitting in the gras of the Sunny and noticed his crewmate walking around in distress. Before the sniper could question his mood, Zoro spoke up already. “Usopp, did you see Shusui?” He pointed at his hip where only two of his signature swords were. The other man shrugged and shook his head. “Nah, didn’t see it.”

“I saw Y/N leaving with it into town.”

A high voice pitched from the other side. It was Chooper, who was holding some drink in both of his hoofs. He sipped it slowly and looked at Zoro with his big deer eyes, like the innocent little thing he was. The swordsman tensed up noticeably and sighed. He clenched his hands into fists. It made Chopper back off a little. He was clearly mad at you taking his sword again. Zoro thought you haven’t learned your lesson and assumed you were messing around with it. How many times did he have to tell you to stop it. He already snapped at you yesterday. He wondered how stubborn you actually were. Maybe you did it on purpose he wasn't sure. But enough was enough.

“Z-Zoro...w-wait what's the matter?” Usop watched him stomping off the sunny with confusion. He wasn’t on the ship yesterday, therefore didn’t hear the argument you had. The anger his friend was radiating was irritatingly strong. He’d never seen him this angry at you. “What was that…”, the sniper mumbled to himself, before he shrugged and continued to work.

You had some business in town which you just finished. The way back to the harbour was quite calming, it was a small little road through a little forest area. The atmosphere surely helped your nervosity. Robin had helped you get Zoros sword while he slept. The weapon was wrapped in fabric and strapped on your back. It should be a little surprise along with the little bag you had in your hand. You dearly hope he would forgive you. You felt sorry for what you did and didn’t want to risk your friendship to continue like this.

Sadly, the surprise wasn’t one for long. In the distance you could see the owner of the said sword. His posture was giving you clear signs. Zoro was mad, yet again because of you. He must have noticed his sword was missing. Obviously. You had hoped to get back to the ship before he woke up, which clearly failed. You swallowed hard when he stomped to you and grabbed your collar.

“Z-Zoro, please let me explain!”

You rose your hands in defense when he handled you this roughly. His fingers were dug deep into the fabric of your shirt, an iron grip which you couldn’t escape. His eyes shot from you, to his sword on your back. Seeing the fabric around it, he narrowed his eyes. “Did you break it now?! I swear to god if you-”

“Let me explain Zoro, I beg you.” Your voice was filled with fear that he’d be mad for you forever. The expression you gave him through your eyes made him hold still for a second. He frightened you. You looked like a scared animal ready to run away and hide. With a sigh he let go, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. Speak.”

“I...I wanted to apologize…” Zoro raised one eyebrow when you grabbed behind your back to his sword. You placed the bag in your hand on the ground to remove the fabric from the weapon. The scabbard was shining in the sun. Someone polished it, even the little scratched in the wood were gone and a fresh layer of polishing wax was on it. You pulled the black blade out, the one you broke the tip off. The metal was shining as well, sharp like new. Zoro eyes widened when he saw his sword. He was speechless. It seemed like you brought his sword to a blacksmith to- not only repair the blade -but also give it a clean up. It looked fantastic, he didn’t know what to say. “Y-You…”

“And this.” You put the sword back into it’s scabbard and handed it over to him. Zoro gladly took it, still speechless. The bag on the ground was also for him. You gave it to the swordsman as well. A delicious smell hit his nostrils. He didn’t have to look inside to know that it was the smell of smoked eel. It was still warm even. With his sword in one and, and the food in the other, he stood there completely baffled. He didn’t expect this and didn’t know how to react. His eyes wandered from the food to his sword. However, when you spoke up, Zoro faced you again.

“I’m sorry for acting like that. I know swordsmanship is not a game, I apologize for disrespecting. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Zoro stood there in silence for a second, before he sighed deeply. He put his sword back and stroke through his hair. He felt like he had to apologize as well. He was way too rude to you. The way he had grabbed you earlier obviously had scared you. It wasn’t his intention. Zoro didn’t want to scare you off like that. “It’s alright. I guess I should apologize for being that rough.”

With a relieved smile you shook your head. You were more than happy that Zoro accepted your apology. That was more important. “Already forgotten...I hope you like smoked eel by the way.” Zoro nodded with a small smile on his features, and sat down on the side of the road. He motioned next to him. “Hope you do as well.”

Together you sat next to each other and emptied the little box full of delicious rice and eel. Zoro asked you how you managed to get his sword and how you found that blacksmith. You quickly explained which made him grin a little. You were a bit clumsy with swords but you surely were witty. Soon you two drifted into some conversation about god and the world, as if nothing happened. Nami was right, Zoro wasn’t someone who held grudges long. Especially not with this kind of apology.

[imaginepirates]

After Life

For the anon who requested a Beckett x reader where the reader is Beckett’s dead wife. Your ghost continues to watch over him, and you’re with him in his final days before being reunited in the afterlife. It follows some of the events that took place in awe. 

@emdrabbles​ @tesserphantom @paljonkaikenlaista @viper-official  @groovyfluxie @hellspawn-brownies 

~3400 words

~~~~~~~

          It had been so hard, those first few weeks. Beckett couldn’t hear you, couldn’t see you, couldn’t feel you; and all you had wanted was to let him know that you weren’t gone. You’d spent so much time trying to touch him, watching your ghostly hands push right through his body, your heart breaking each time you realized you would never be able to do so. You’d even gone as far as trying to paint things on the walls, or scratch messages into the wood. Eventually, you lost hope of communicating with your husband, instead trailing a few feet behind him at all times, never able to let him go.

          How could you? He was the love of your life; even now, he still muttered to you in his sleep, and he would talk to you like he believed you could hear him. All you wanted was to let him know that you did.

          It was a cruel trick fate had played on you, letting you die. Now you had to watch, day by day, as Cutler’s suffering whittled away at him. You remembered a time when there weren’t dark circles around his eyes. He grew wearier with each passing day, but you knew him: he would never admit such a thing to himself. Wasn’t it your job to take care of him?

          If only I could.

          All it had taken was a bullet. A single bullet through the stomach had separated you forever, creating a ghost out of you and a shell out of him. He had spent so much time mourning you, you had been afraid that his grief for you would drive him to obsession. Even still, years later, he wore a black ring for you.

          Sometimes, you still did some of the mundane things you’d done in life. You ran your ghostly fingers through his hair, or perched yourself near him as he worked. You often found yourself sitting in chairs you used to read in. On rare occasions, you would allow yourself to curl up next to him while he slept.

          You had realized, long ago, that your ghost could go anywhere it wished. You had utilized that ability so you weren’t stuck in the house all day, but it served a far greater purpose; anywhere Cutler went, you could follow. By land or by sea, you could always be with him.

          Now, you watched him sip tea with unsteady hands. He stared at a map laid out on the table before him. Unnecessarily, you figured. You knew that he had everything on the map memorized, but he was anxious to get to Shipwreck Cove, and he needed to distract himself with something.

          What will you do when you get there? Kill them all? Take them prisoner? Neither option sounds particularly possible. They’re pirates, they’ll run away.

          Ever since your death, it had become an unhealthy obsession for him to purge the seas of pirates. He had never been able let go of the knowledge that you’d been killed by a pirate. His fixation stemmed from that incident, turning its gnashing teeth on every rogue in its way.

          Will he ever be satiated? When every last one of them is gone, will he be content? You knew the answer. He is never content. He is a man who wants everything, and he can’t have that without me.

          You’d been afraid, at first, that he would remarry. It was the common thing to do; part of a man’s social status was determined by having a good wife. Yet he never had, and you were eternally grateful. Perhaps the only thing worse than watching him suffer would be to watch him happy with someone else.

          “I would do anything to have you back, you know.”

          You jumped—well, as much as a ghost could. You stared at Cutler with wide eyes, almost expecting him to look at you, but you realized with a sinking heart that he was looking at the wall behind you.

          “I’ve come close. I thought maybe the compass would show me something. It never did.” He stared miserably at the wall, pulling out a decanter of brandy and filling a glass. “It really isn’t the same, without you.” It was a whisper, as if he were afraid someone could hear.

          You drifted over to him, cupping one of his cheeks with a hand.

          “I’m afraid to die, you know. I don’t particularly believe in heaven; even if I did, I doubt they’d let me in.” He scoffed, downing a mouthful of burning liquid. “I would be less afraid if I knew you were waiting for me. It wouldn’t be so bad, then.”

          You wanted to scream, to tell him everything, to calm his fears and strip him of his worries. But you stayed silent, stroking his cheek.

          “Do you know how many times I’ve thought that I’ve seen you places?”

           Do you know how many times I thought you’d seen me?

          “How many times I went to speak to you, only to realize that you weren’t there?”

          How many times I’ve fruitlessly, wordlessly, noiselessly answered you?

          “How many times I wished I could reach out and hold you?”

          How many times I’ve held you? Caressed you?

          “How many times I would have given anything and everything, just to see you one more time?” His voice finally broke. “Dear god, I hope you know that if I could have anything, it would be you. I don’t need any of this.” He waved a hand around vaguely. He looked down at his hands, fiddling with his wedding ring. He sniffed once, then straightened back up, eyes darting around the room.

          You knew that method; it was his way of grounding himself before he lost control. He hated to cry. He prided himself on his control over his emotions, and it was no wonder why. You’d never met his father, but even outside of Cutler’s stories, you’d heard how cruel he could be. For fear of punishment, Cutler had learned to control everything about himself.

          He’s afraid to die, you thought, but he’s afraid of so much else besides. Fear and ambition paired themselves in him. And they are such good motivators.

          He blinked a few times, then set his face to neutral. He moved the maps back to their places, taking care to roll them up gently, setting the decanter of brandy exactly as he’d found it, tidying his desk until everything was just as he’d had it that morning, save for the tea-tray sitting to one side.

          Death has been on his mind lately. Why? Does he think this will be the end of him? Not likely—not with the Dutchman on his side. So why now?

          Though even you had to admit, there had been quite a theme, lately. Sao Feng, Governor Swann, and then that poor Norrington boy. You’d been quite fond of him. It was a shame he’d died, though you weren’t entirely sure where his soul had gone. Maybe yours only hung on because of Cutler, and that was why you were still here with him.

          It made no matter, you supposed, though it did make you wonder: where would your soul go when he died? You clung to the idea that you would be reunited, though as he’d said himself, it might be a false hope.

          The days passed in that slow way that they do, when one is at sea. Unchanging scenery made you feel stagnant. Even though ships were vessels of travel, you felt like you were going nowhere, unmoving on the vast canvas of shimmering aquas and deep blues.

          Then you found them.

          At first, you had assumed they were just barrels, but the seagulls swarming around them told a different story. Even dead, you still cringed when the corpses were brought aboard. You internally thanked Cutler for burying yours as each body was pushed back into the water, sinking slowly to the great depths below.

          A small smile played on your husband’s face. “A breadcrumb trail. And we’re meant to follow.”

          The lieutenant behind him watched the water warily. “A betrayer among them, or a trap?”

          “A gambit. By a skilled opponent.” Cutler watched the horizon. “Adjust course, lieutenant.”

          “Sir?”

          Beckett raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turned up, amused. “We can only hope to reach our destination before they run out of bodies.”

          The hours progressed, and you watched hollowly as bodies bobbed up against the ship, limply plopping into the water as they were cut from their barrels. Beckett was in his office, you knew, plotting his next move. It always was that way with him.

          A spluttering sound came from below, and you nearly screamed—not that you would have made any sound—to find a live boy tied to one of the barrels. You drifted down to examine him. His clothes were heavily water-clogged, and you suspected that he had tied himself to the barrel. It was a wonder the waves hadn’t yet pulled him below.

          There was a scuffle to get him aboard, and then he was standing, shakily, clinging to the rail, but rather determined looking. It took a moment for you to recognize him. Oh dear. He’s caused my husband quite a bit of trouble, you thought. I’m sure there’s more yet to come.

          There was. Much more.

          You knew Jones by the hollow step of his claw on the deck of the Endeavor. You hated that creature; you tried your best to stay out of his sight. You were somewhat afraid that he would find you, somehow, that he would take you away. His job was, after all, to ferry souls to the other side. Cutler was always partial to such tales.

          You stood at Cutler’s side, now, forcing yourself not to leave. I will not be afraid of that thing. I will not. Still, a chill ran down your spine as the doors were forced open and Jones shouldered his way into the room.

          “I cannot be summoned like some mongrel pup,” he spat.

          “Apparently you can.”

          Jones stopped, turning to you. He looked at you then. Not through you, as Cutler had so many times, but actually at you, like he could see you.

          “What’s this?” he questioned, stepping closer.

          You laid a hand protectively on Cutler’s shoulder, drawing in a breath and trying to stand tall, no matter how much you wanted to flee the captain’s gaze.

          “Ah.”

          Beckett looked confused, as did Will. They stared at you without seeing you, squinting to understand what Jones saw. The attention was quickly taken off of you and put on Will as Jones turned to the boy. Jones’ eyes flicked to you during the ensuing conversation. He knew you were listening.

          You watched accords being made, and as Will produced an all too familiar compass from his pocket. You wanted to laugh. A magic compass, Davy Jones, and me, a ghost, all in the same room! It sounds the beginning of an awful joke.

          Jones finally turned his back to leave, but not before making one last remark. “And Lord Beckett,” the squid smiled unpleasantly, “congratulations on your beautiful wife.”

          Beckett whipped to one side, staring right at you with wide eyes. “She’s here?” There was so much hope in his face, hope that nobody could see but you.

          “She always has been,” Jones replied. “I don’t think she’s left you since she died. She, at least, understands what it is to be true.” You knew he spoke of Calypso.

          “Can you…” Beckett trailed off, but you could tell from his watering eyes what he wanted to ask. “Can you bring her back?”

          “Nothing can bring back the dead.”

          Tears welled at the corners of Cutler’s eyes. “Leave. I don’t wish to speak of it.”

          Jones did as he was bid, and you were left with your husband. He dragged a chair out from its place at the table, sinking into it. He ran his hands over his face, letting them rest over his mouth and nose. He almost looked as if he had himself under control. Then the tears slipped over his cheeks, leaving little red streaks over his face, and he rested his arms against the table, burying his face in his hands to sob.

          You ran your ghostly hands through his hair and over his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his back and pressing yourself against him. Someday, it won’t be like this. For either of us.

          Much ensued in the following days. To your surprise, the pirates had chosen to fight instead of flee, a shocking decision, given their predisposition to self-preservation. Your husband seemed unbothered. And why shouldn’t he be? We have the Dutchman on our side, and we even have Jack as a captive. You knew just how much that fact pleased your husband, given their history. You too would be glad to watch the scoundrel go.

          Still, something seemed…off, to you. You weren’t sure if Cutler could sense it. He always has been so confident in himself. You tried brushing it off, telling yourself it was nothing, but for some reason, the lingering feeling simply wouldn’t leave.

          “They’ve elected to fight,” Culter said to the empty room before him. “Finally.” He twirled a piece of eight between his fingers. “I don’t know, dear, if you can hear me,” he looked a little self-conscious, probably feeling ridiculous talking to someone he couldn’t see, “but know that even if things go wrong, I’ll be alright. I don’t want you worrying over me.”

          Has there been a day in my life—or beyond—when I haven’t?

          “I just hope that Jones will do his part. I’m afraid the creature still has feelings, and those feelings can easily cause him to blunder.”

          No. You wouldn’t think of it. Even if Jones did fail, the British armada could easily defeat the sorry gathering of pirates present.

          “Just know, if things go south, that I have loved you, every day since we were parted. There has not been a day when I haven’t thought of you.”

          His words did nothing to quell the horrible feeling in your gut. If he died, where would you both go? You knew, one day, that he would, but you didn’t want it to happen so soon. And no matter how much you hated being stuck a ghost, following him endlessly, never able to communicate with him, the idea that you might never see him again was worse. His death didn’t guarantee your reunion.

          He was fetched to watch the ensuing battle play out, and you could only follow. A wind had picked up, ripping through the rigging. Interesting, given the calm of the day, but the weather over the seas is not always predictable. As the Dutchman moved forward to meet the Pearl in battle, things only got worse.

          The rain first fell in a drizzle, but soon escalated to a full monsoon. You could see nothing; only the masts of the two ships were visible, occasionally highlighted by a crack of lightning. The waters churned, and you were reminded of all those awful Greek tales involving the Charybdis.

          Cutler muttered beside you, squinting into the maelstrom. Even he seemed unsettled by the quick change. No storm just pops up this quickly. Whatever magics those pirates are using, it won’t save them.

          It seemed to go on for hours. By the time the rain receded and the waves returned to lapping gently at the hulls of the ships, the Dutchman was nowhere in sight. Surely it’s lurking just beneath the waves, as it always does, you told yourself. It often sails beneath the water. But you knew, deep down, that something was terribly wrong.

          “It seems that Jones has failed us. If you want a job done, you must do it yourself, I suppose.” Cutler turned, giving the order to advance. You were unsure if the Endeavor could take the Pearl one-on-one, but given the fact that the Pearl had just suffered at the hands of Jones, your husband had a good chance.

          Cutler visibly relaxed when the Dutchman resurfaced. Thank god. I don’t want him to go into this alone. Why Cutler felt it was his personal responsibility to annihilate the Pearl confused you. It would have made more sense to send other members of the fleet out first. But Cutler wants to do this himself. He wants to see them all die firsthand.

          It was only as the ships began to change course that you felt your fear rising again. Your own worry was reflected in Cutler’s eyes. The Endeavor was set to sail right between the Pearl and the Dutchman…who weren’t firing at each other.

          You could only watch with mounting horror as you sailed between the two ships. You wanted nothing more than to force your husband to abandon ship, but there was nothing you could do. So you did only what you could; you walked with him, staying by his side as the Endeavor was bombarded.

          You only turned towards him as the flames surrounded you, knowing it was the last glimpse of him you’d ever see. For a brief moment, he looked back—at you, this time—and you knew he could see you, even for the shortest of instances. Then he was swallowed by flame, and you were gone, too, ghostly limbs drifting like ash on the winds.

~~~~~~~

          You next awoke on a boat. It was a little thing, a dinghy, really. There were others, too, drifting aimlessly around you. There was little you could see through the fog, but you knew that the boats continued on into eternity. This will be a boring way to spend eternity. Maybe I’ll pass by someone I know every few hundred years. The thought did little to help.

          The silence was interrupted by occasional shouts, though the words were lost in the swirling mists of the endlessly dark sea. Where am I, exactly? Is this purgatory? You caught glimpses of others; a red coat here, a white dress there. You could swear that you passed the former Governor Swann. Cutler killed you. I’m not particularly sorry about it, either. You were always a slightly ridiculous man.

          At some point, you closed your eyes, letting yourself fall away from your surroundings. Perhaps endless sleep wouldn’t be so bad.

          Something bumped into your boat. You opened your eyes, a little surprised. It was another boat. You glanced up at its occupant. It seemed doubtful that you would know who it was, given that you were in an endless sea of dead, and you had no idea how many time-periods these people came from. For all you knew, some of these dead could be hundreds of years old.

          You gasped. The man beside you stared back with wide eyes, and he had grabbed you boat, keeping you from drifting off.

          “Were you really there, the whole time?” Cutler asked.

          “Yes,” you breathed. You touched your throat. It had been so long since you’d been able to speak, you had almost forgotten what your own voice sounded like.

          “Even through all the things I’ve done?”

          “Why would I leave you?”

          “I’ve done awful things. I don’t even regret them. It’s hard to imagine that somebody would stick with me through it all.” His voice cracked, and you watched tears spill over his face. He hastily wiped them away with the back of a hand.

          “I love you. The rest of the world can burn, for all I care. You’ve always been what matters most to me.”

          A brief look of shock crossed your husband’s face, replaced by one of annoyance. “Whoever designed this afterlife is horrible at their job. It took us hours to find each other.” He stood, a little unsteady in his boat, and quickly stepped into yours. Seeing the confusion on your face, he grabbed your hand. “I’m never letting anything separate us ever again. Especially not some stupid little boats.”

          You laughed. “No, you wouldn’t.” The feeling of his hand in yours was the best feeling you’d had in years. I haven’t been able to touch him for so long. “Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

          He smiled softly, the first smile you’d seen on him in months. “I’d like that.”

          You both turned, watching the fog swirl around you, drifting together into the endless nothingness. But at least I have him again, and that’s all I ever wanted.  

[juliettalfacharlie]

Day One: “You have to let me go.”

CW graphic violence, injury, animal death (it's dark.)

It had begun as a simple animal trafficking raid; the Creeping Crystal Triad had expanded their avenues into illegal wildlife trade, and a solid tip lead them to a warehouse hidden up in the mountains. When Lin had received the call, she'd been out having lunch with Kya, and the waterbender had insisted on coming in case any animals had been injured.

Once they arrived, it seemed all the clues pointed to an abandoned gig. The sight was absolutely gruesome; Lin found a trailer with two dead boar-q-pines, both terribly emaciated. One had clearly died (note, been killed) and the other had tried to eat it, blood forever staining the wooden walls and floor. As they ventured further onto the property, the conditions were similar. Owl cats that had plucked themselves bare in nervousness, still and unmoving in their filthy cages. A concrete pen housed the remains of a crococat family, kittens still small and fuzzy.

Kya wrapped her arms around herself, beyond horrified. Lin, however private she preferred to be, wasn't so much of a hardass that she didn't comfort her girlfriend, who immediately buried her face in Lin's neck.

Lin lead her back out front while she had two officers sweep the rest of the house. While she'd witnessed occasions of animal abuse before, it had never been on such a large scale as this, and she'd barely scratched the surface of this disturbing scene.

She brought Kya to their car, sure she needed to sit and let the shock wear off.

Part of Lin wanted to call in more backup, but she wanted to subject as few people to the grisly sight as possible. The four men on-site had been on the force for a long time; while it definitely wasn't easy, she knew they'd be able to handle processing it all.

They were twenty feet from their car when the van beside them exploded, throwing both women forward.

Lin had been behind Kya, her armour taking bits of shrapnel. She didn't have time to process their landing; the dense layer of fallen leaves provided zero traction against the sloped drop off, and in what felt like a moment, Lin was falling.

There was a narrow ledge three feet below the side of the mountain, then an incredibly steep descent into a copse of trees. Their momentum deposited them right against the edge of the shelf. Lin felt her metal plates scratching against the rocky cliff face, and her hand desperately clawed for a hold.

Her fingers dug into the earth, creating an artificial grip that she held onto for dear life.

Kya hadn't been able to find purchase, but Lin blindly reached out, and by some miracle she'd been able to find her wrist.

The older woman slipped off the edge, a short shriek leaving her lungs as she felt herself drop.

Lin tightened her hold, solely supporting Kya's weight. She felt something tear in her shoulders, both arms pulled in different directions, and she cried out.

Her muscles were past overworked, and she trembled in exertion. Kya looked up at her in fear.

"You have to let me go." she insisted, and Lin fought with her neck to tilt her head down.

"Like hell I will." she gritted out, pure agony spread across her back. She willed herself to hold on for a fraction longer, right forearm straining. Lin curled her legs up, striking the ledge with her metal shoes. She created a foothold in the rock, allowing her to relieve some of the stress on her upper body with her quads.

It didn't ease her left arm pain, but she actually felt stable enough to continue.

"Kya, I need you to hold my belt. I'll turn my armour into handles so you can climb up." she called, as if she were instructing an officer. Kya swung herself up so that her free hand could grip Lin's corded belt, and Lin grimaced at the new pressure at her waist.

When Kya said she was secure, Lin released her wrist, and the waterbender quickly took hold with her other hand.

Lin bore down on her thighs, using her now-free arm to remove her plates.

Pain throbbed up her shoulder but she pushed through, rolling the flat metal pieces into cylinders that she impaled into the cliffside.

Once she was done she exhaled, letting her left arm hang limply at her side. "Get your foot onto the bottom most peg, and you can switch your grips over." Lin explained, and Kya did as told. As her weight shifted onto the climbing studs, Lin almost sagged in relief.

"Climb up now. I'm going to need you to help me." she continued. Kya carefully ascended three feet until she could pull herself onto solid ground, quickly looking over the edge at Lin.

Her stomach dropped at the sight of her lover just barely clinging to safety, but Lin's face was devoid of visible fear.

"What can I do?" Kya asked, and Lin's eyes studied the ledge, looking for the best route with only one arm.

"I'm going to walk up the side; can you grab my wrist and help pull me?" she was met with a quick nod, and Kya bent her knees to give her the necessary support.

"Ready?" she asked, and Lin quickly loosened her hold on the rock, instead taking Kya's hand. It was the most stressful moment for Kya, the knowledge that any error could cause Lin to fall backwards to almost certain death.

While time seemed to pass slowly, the exchange went without incident, and Kya felt a surge of relief as she began to straighten her legs. Lin created more vertical footholds, allowing herself to climb up like it was the world's most lethal jungle gym.

With one final push, Lin too stood on the short ledge, and Kya couldn't help her relieved sob.

Lin shuffled close, pressing Kya back against the rock as she rested her head on the taller woman's shoulder.

The metalbender caught her breath, letting the adrenaline seep from her body as she gripped her girlfriend's hand.

Above them, one of Lin's officers frantically peered down.

"Chief!" he exclaimed, immediately raising the platform both women stood on.

There was a gash on his temple, swollen and bloody, but a glance towards the house said that wasn't the worst of it.

The storage facility was still burning, black smoke rising from the windows and the collapsed ceiling. Lin and Kya both tightened their hold on one another.

After a moment, Lin asked, eyes sweeping the scene, "Where's Sergeant Kip?"

"She's perfectly fine, ser. She's on the line with dispatch." he explained, gaze flitting about the horizon. Kya could see the telltale signs of shock in his jittery behaviour.

"Clearly this wasn't just an animal smuggling ring. I want to know every damn detail about that building, about the tip, about fucking everything." Lin growled, and the officer nodded.

"Yes, ser." he responded automatically.

Lin shook her head, beginning to trudge towards her Satomobile. Kya was with her at each step.

"Take it easy, Cheok, you've done well. Is your forehead the only injury you sustained?" she asked, and he took a moment to think.

"I believe so. The- I was knocked onto the ground, but I don't think it's serious. Kip was further back, so she was only affected by the sound." he explained.

Lin hummed in understanding, "I'm going to have Kya take a look, alright?" and Cheok agreed. He took a seat in the passenger side of the Satomobile, and Kya leaned down to work on his temple.

Lin would continue on and speak with Kip, but she took a moment to let her mind finally catch up, again staring at the ruins of the building.

She supported her left elbow to lesson the pain across her back. It was a different kind of torture compared to her mental anguish. The devastation of having lost two men, the knowledge she and Kya had been a minute off of dying with them. Their extreme luck climbing back up the mountain.

She took a steadying breath. It had began a wonderfully pleasant morning, yet somehow ended like this.

Lin didn't want to be away from Kya right now, but she had to continue her duties. She began to walk towards Kip's car, finding herself for once unable to compartmentalize her emotions and responsibilities. Catching the criminals had always been revenge enough, but damnit if she wouldn't tear the Creeping Crystal Triad apart doing so.

[secretficblog]

In another life - Chapter 3 - Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary:  Long before there were new Jedi, before the fight between the Resistance and the First Order came to an end, there was just a young man, skilled in flying anything he could get his hands on, with the urge to be something greater. Then there was you. You broke him

Rating: M for smut in later chapters

Now on ao3, come say hi if you want to!

Warnings: both of them are idiots, I feel like I only write idiots with zero communication skills, you’ll see; now with more angst; you dumped him;

no use of y/n

Word count: 2220

first chapter here ; second here ; fourth at the bottom

Kijimi, a few years ago

“Dameron, what in the everloving fuck did you do?”, you yelled over the sound of blasterfire.

“He altered the deal, so I altered it even further!”, Poe called back to you.

“Well he wasn’t happy with that, I’m guessing”, you retorted. Quickly you raised your blaster over the large barrels you were taking cover behind and shot at the attackers blindly. They were approaching rapidly and from what you could tell, there was quite a few of them. The frigid air smelled like spilled spice and the coldness was slowly seeping into your clothes, the floor underneath you was making you shiver. Your hands were shaking, unsteadily holding your blaster and you weren’t sure if it was from the impending feeling of doom or the low temperature on the planet you had made your temporary home on.

“If we die here Poe, I’ll haunt your ass!”, you shouted, turning to where he was sitting mere moments ago. The spot next to you was vacant.

“What the fuck, Dameron?” Kriffing cunt. He left you alone in this. Of course you knew he hadn’t run off, he would never turn his back on you but he had some sort of suicidal plan he was currently implementing without consulting you first. By now you knew that that was typical for him but the way your heart sped up, fearing for his wellbeing, was always the same, even with the knowledge that he had returned to you safely every time so far.

You grabbed the blaster tightly, pulling out a small mirror, which you usually used to fix your hair in the middle of a long day, from your pocket and let it peak out slightly next to the barrels. You could see at least three of them slowly closing in on you. You picked the one to the far right off first, aiming your blaster and shooting him in the chest. He thudded onto the floor, alarming the other two. The next time you held out the mirror you saw the flash of a familiar looking jacket on the rooftop behind the attackers. How had he been able to sneak up on them like this?

Poe snuck closer, leaping soundlessly from roof to roof and dropped down on the man on the far left, taking him down with the full force of his body and choking him out. You left your cover, ready to take the last man down, who was aiming his blaster at Poe. Your companion was still busy with the other attacker and didn’t notice the dangerous situation he had gotten himself into. “Dameron, move”, you screamed, hands shaking from the cold as you willed you blaster to shoot the last attacker. You missed just as he hit his mark. Poe had whipped around slightly but not far enough for the shot to miss him entirely. You couldn’t see how bad it was from you position but he went down with the intensity of the pain.

Letting out a feral growl you aimed at the last man, adrenaline steadying your hands as you hit the mark not once but four times in your uproaring anger.

“Maker, baby, cool it, I think you got him”, you heard Poe wheeze behind you. His voice sounded thin and strained but at least he was talking to you.

“Kriff, I thought you died on me for a second, Dameron”, you whispered. He was still sitting on the floor, breathing heavily. Your eyes slid down to his waist, where the weapon had penetrated his flesh. He looked up at you, eyes wide. “Sweetheart, I think I still might”, his voice was wavering, he was scared.

“No, no, you’re alright, I just need to get you home, I have a cauterizer, we can fix this”, you rambled. Of course he knew you had a cauterizer, you lived together. You just needed to keep talking to help yourself focus and most importantly, to keep him alert. Red was blooming through his big coat now and you could barely hold it together. Hands still shaking you lifted the scarf you were wearing off of you and tied it around his mid tightly. Getting him home was a hassle, you were more dragging than carrying him as he faded in and out of consciousness.

Normally, you loved wandering around the streets of Kijimi with him at night. You thought about the times you two had sneaked through the allies, a bottle of Corellian Firewhiskey in one hand, stealing quick kisses here and there on your way home. He needed to hold on so you could spend more nights like this, bathing in the moonlight and unbothered by the cold, unsure if the warmth you felt came from the drink in your hand or the way he looked at you.

Finally, you made it and carefully guided him towards your shared bed. His skin was cold as ice, his lips blue and he had stopped shivering a while ago. You covered all the areas you didn’t need to access to cauterize his wound with thick blankets made from bantha wool. After cauterizing the wound, you sat next to him until he started shivering again. Planting a soft kiss on his forehead you allowed yourself to relax slightly and take your eyes off of him while he slept. You nuzzled his head, whispering soft nothings into his hair and letting your tears fall freely. The ice-cold grip of fear closed around your heart as the realization set in that you had almost lost him today.

 Hours Later

Groaning, he pushed himself up on the headboard hours later, eyes trained on your exhausted and tear-stained face. “Do you think this is all I’m good for? Running spice until I get killed?”, he asked.

“Of course not Poe, that’s ridiculous.” You were unsure of what he was getting at but you didn’t like the undertone in his voice one bit.

“I want my life to mean something, no stick around here in fear of the First Order.”

“Poe, I-”

“I know this isn’t the life you want to lead, sweetheart. If I’m sure about one thing it’s that I want you by my side, wherever that may lead us.”, he interrupted.

“Poe you can’t make a decision like this based on your love for me! I’ve seen you fly, I’ve seen you fight, they’d be lucky to have you.”

“Come with me then!”

“I couldn’t, the things I’ve done in life Poe, I’m not one of the good ones, I’m not talented like you, I’d be a burden more than an asset to the Resistance.”

“Think about it baby, we could help end this war”, the idea of fighting for a cause, dying for it, made your spine chill. You were not brave like him, you were not nearly as selfless as he was. Quite the opposite actually, you wanted to hide out on some backwater planet, take Poe with you and wait the result of this war out. It wasn’t like the sides of this war didn’t matter to you, you were painfully aware that the First Order and the Resistance weren’t two sides of the same power hungry coin.

You had seen and felt the destruction the First Order inflicted on the people of the galaxy first-hand. You were clinging desperately to the idea that you could make a living as a spice runner, with Poe always by your side, more bothered by the deals you were closing than by the constant fighting around you.

Your father had once told you that this was how movements like the First Order came into power in the first place, because people refused to accept the state of the world and rise up but instead tried to protect their own little flawless corner of the galaxy with all their might until it was too late. “I’m no hero, Poe. I don’t want this.”, the words slipped out unintentionally but that didn’t change the truth behind them.

“People are dying everywhere around us.”, he shot back, “We could be next if we don’t do anything about this.”

“I’m sorry, if you chose this you’re going down a path I can’t follow.” The look of hurt in Poe’s eyes following your declaration made you physically recoil. You never wanted to hurt him, could he not understand that you wanted him to be okay, wanted the both of you to be free and together, regardless of anything else? You gazed into his eyes, willing him to understand why you reacted the way you did. Instead he averted his eyes, searching around the room for something to focus on. The silence that settled between the two of you was an uneasy one and it kept stretching on.

You were about to open your mouth when you heard him quietly whisper “You are my everything, I’d never give that up. I’d never choose anything over you.” Tears were stinging in your eyes but you did your best to hold them back.

“Let’s go to sleep, Poe”, you replied quietly. You settled down carefully next to him, leaning over while making sure not to come near his wound. Your hand reached up to stroke over his face, fingertips softly grazing over his stubble. You leaned in, softly touching his lips with your own.

“We can talk about this tomorrow”, you said. Poe drifted off into a deep sleep soon after, the exhaustion and the blood loss pulling him under. You however stayed up, thinking about what he had said.

Poe had potential, he was brave, albeit to reckless for his own good. He would make a great member of the Resistance. You could see him making a difference in this war. When you pictured him, shining hero of the Resistance, you couldn’t see yourself with him anymore. Poe was good and selfless, for all his snarky and flirty comments he was soft at heart, caring and passionate.

You were not.

You just wanted to curl up next to him and stay in your shared bed forever. Poe was destined to be something greater and your fears were holding him back. He had said he would never choose anything over you. He didn’t have to, you would make that choice for him. In the time you had gotten to share with him, your lives had intertwined and you barely remembered what it felt like to be without him. This realization shocked you. You needed to let him go, let him realize his dreams and you had to allow yourself to go and find yourself again. Not once did you doubt that he was the person for you but you feared the timing the two of you had was off. Maybe there was a chance for you, another day, to rekindle what you had.

Quietly, you slipped out from under the arm he had thrown over you and collected a few items you wanted to take with you. After carelessly stuffing a few items of clothing into your bag, you let your fingers slide over the pictures of the two of you that were displayed in the room. You decided to slip one of them into your bag as a reminder of the things in the galaxy that were worth fighting for. The tears streaming down your face where only made obvious to you when they dripped onto the bag in front of you. You wiped your face with the shirt you were wearing, the fabric scratchy on your soft skin. You wanted to take one of his shirts with you but you knew that the minute you unpacked it you would be on your way back to him. You couldn’t be selfish right now, you needed to be selfless like Poe so that he could have a chance in this galaxy and not waste his life running spice with you. It was for the best.

You planned on leaving a note, not wanting him to think someone took you against your will. Hands shaking, you skribbled “I’ll find you in another life, Dameron, be a hero” onto a piece of paper and turned back to his sleeping form. What a dumb thing to say, but you were at a loss for words. Yet, you wanted to believe in those ridiculous words you wrote down, sounding like a girlish fantasy.

It was better this way, for him. You would manage somehow.

He was in a deep but restless sleep. Careful not to wake him you placed a hand on his forehead and he stilled immediately. Fresh tears prickled in your eyes. You bent down one last time to kiss his lips gently, bidding him a slient farewell. You shouldered your bag and looked back over to his sleeping form one last time, the urge to lie back down was overwhelming. “This is for his best.”, you reminded yourself and closed the door quietly. As you heaved your bag onto one of the two speeders parked outside, you allowed the tears to flow freely, weeping for the life you could have had if it was not for the situation around you.

He was the right person for you, you were sure of that. It was just the wrong time, the turmoil in the galaxy left no room for happy endings.

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Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Comments and Reblogs make my days as I’m fighting my way through my third involuntary online semester so I’d really appreciate that. Stay safe in these wild times loves xx

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