#once again I throw sparkles to save a drawing

[marshmellobunny64]

I gave up on this drawing of Vanilla 😭

[shanieveh]

dangerously yours !

— genshin men as the villain, you're the hero and throw some love in the mix

sacrifices the world to save you— ALHAITHAM, scaramouche, diluc, THOMA, childe, chongyun

He knew you planned to sacrifice yourself. He saw it coming. And he was ready to prevent every bit of it. He loved you. Once from afar, once from a different identity, a falsehood, a lie. He did all of that to see you, to know you and he fell. Hard.

You were a saint, the embodiment of good morality. A hope for the future. The opposite of him. And as you brace yourself for the moment your soul leaves for a new world, all for his arms to be wrapped in your body. You open your eyes and found a new world, the sound of bombs from where you once were. But that didn't matter. Not when his eyes sparkle more than crystals.

let's you defeat them— kaveh, VENTI, arataki itto, AYATO, albedo, xingqiu, cyno, aether, zhongli, tartaglia, heizou

As your blade came so close to slashing his neck you were finally hailed as a hero. A champion, a winner. But that void in your heart, a trophy can't fill that piece of your heart. He told you it was okay, as both of you staged a fight. Now he was tortured, punished for his crimes. He made you defeat him so you'll be once again called a hero.

You visit him almost everyday, always with an anonymous identity. He still smiled even with his tortured frame, one from lashes, some from his couple inmates. How can he sacrifice all his of career for you? It was easy really. No amount of punishment could exceed your cries, and that beautiful pained face he can't bear to see.

you join the darkside— kaeya, AYATO, albedo, pantalone, scaramouche, pierro, dainsleif, tartaglia

He lured you right to his trap. It all started when you met him, it was like Eve drawing closer to the sneaky snake. But just like it, your first meeting was destiny. Your family always wanted you to be a kind loving child. And you grew up as one. But as you learned more about the other side, you realized how wrong the "morally right" actually is.

It started off with a petty theft, to some injuries and then violence. With him at your side, it felt like pure adrenaline rushed to your veins. He taught you reality, away from the fairy tale built by the stupid legends of heroes. He made you feel that pain and hatred all came from love. You made him feel that loving was never enough to show just how much he adores you. Bang.

he becomes good— scaramouche, THOMA kazuha, VENTI, kaveh, tighnari, zhongli, bennett, xiao

He was never really evil. He was hurt. And when you feel him, and touch and be with him you learn how he actually is. How he was supposed to be. He used his power to see you often, maybe battle with you, but with the many chances to defeat you he chose not to. The many chances to destroy your plans, he left.

On quiet nights, away from the prying eyes and evil plans. There lies both of you, one asleep, one awake. He looks at the person lying on the grass and stares at the peaceful sky and saw no difference. You were the shooting star. His wish. He can't be evil, and he never was. And just for you, he never will. He can't stand to lose you, and he would give everything he built for that.

BONUS: he sacrifices himself— thoma, KAZUHA, alhaitham, childe, albedo, diluc, KAEYA

No... it can't be. He cant die like that. Not for you. It wasn't how it was supposed to be. Pleas of you wanting to wake him up. He was supposed to be a foe. But how he loved you so. He made you feel like you had a purpose, that you were more than just a weapon of justice. He made you feel alive and in doing so it killed him.

The war was over. But was it worth it? It wasn't. Killing him, destroyed you, tore you to pieces. He planned all of this. He knew he was... and in the palm of his hand lie the letter. A plan? A story? No.. it only stated three words you were so scared told him. A feeling you now regret.

"I love you."

[aralezinspace]

Shattered Whole

Requested by Anonymous: Morpheus and I are husband and wife, I have telekinesis and save him from enemies but overdo it and pass out, he takes care of me until I wake up

A/N: Writing action and fights is one of my favorite things aaaahhhh also love when we get to see Dream use the full extent of his power and also powered reader 🙌🏽 enjoy! tagging @fangirlmary

~~Requests are open!~~

The din of battle was something you would never get used to. The screams of pain, the cries of rage, the cacophony of sound, the crumbling of rubble, the grunts of effort. Just one more enemy, just a few more feet. It never seemed to end.

As far as visits to Hell went, a fight was hardly unexpected, but it still wasn’t something you were entirely prepared for. Your husband Morpheus had warned you that conflict was a possibility, and you had insisted on coming anyway. You were nowhere near as powerful as Morpheus, but your telekinetic abilities were nothing to sniff at, especially after Dream agreed to help you hone and strengthen them. You could hold your own, but a horde of angry demons wasn’t exactly an easy thing to overcome.

They surrounded you on all sides, growling and spitting as they took it in turns to brandish their claws and attack. You had become separated from Morpheus, your husband surrounded by his own ring of demons several feet away. Every now and again you could feel grains of sand brush over your skin, reassuring you that he was still standing and holding firm. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, he appeared unbreakable as ever, even if the shadows of his cloak writhed and churned like wraiths. Watching the Nightmare King unleash the full extent of his power would have been incredibly arousing had your own life not been in danger. The demons began to close in on both of you, sensing they were about to overwhelm you with sheer force of numbers.

Morpheus could do this all day. You, however, were nearing your limit, and there was no sign of the storm abating any time soon. This had to end, now, if you wanted to make it back to the Dreaming alive.

Every breath burned as it tore in and out of your lungs. Your hands were trembling as you continued to use your power to throw demons into each other, smash their skulls in, lift slabs of rock in front of you to guard yourself from their claws and teeth. You were reaching your limit, but neither you nor Morpheus were any closer to defeating your foes. You could almost hear Lucifer’s smug, decadent chuckle.

In a brief lull in the action, you caught Morpheus’ eye across the barren waste covered in corpses. His eyes were black, but they sparkled with determination and vigor and rage most ancient. You could see his love for you, feel his conviction to protect you and get you out safely. Your own eyes tried to convey everything you didn’t have the time or words to say: how much you loved him, that you could do this, that you were going to save him for once. A determined, resigned smile touched your face, and Dream’s focused expression turned to one of horror.

You heard him call out for you, a guttural scream from the depths of his being for you not to go through with whatever it was you were planning. Blasting a hole in the wall of demons surrounding you, you yelled, “Come and get me you bastards!” and took off like the devil themselves was on your heels.

Every sprinting step pounded in the depths of your skull as you ran across the rocky wasteland, drawing the horde of demons away from Dream. You gasped for breath, the sand and dust burning your lungs as you ran. You could hear the demons gaining on you, snarling and growling all the horrible things they were going to do when they finally caught you. You grimaced and willed yourself to keep running, keep going, until you could take them all down.

About a hundred and fifty feet away was a ring of stone pillars, reaching up to the burnt orange sky. You pivoted and ran for those pillars, gathering every last scrap of your remaining power. You had hit your limit, there was no way in hell (literally) you were making it out of this battle alive. But that didn’t mean that Morpheus couldn’t. It was your turn to save him, as he had saved you so many times before. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, but you pushed them away. You had to focus.

The pillars drew closer, and the demons were hot on your heels. You reached the center of the ring and skidded to a halt before turning to face the legion of demons coming for you. You stretched your power to its limits, letting it seep into every crevice of the pillars it would reach. Your hands shook harder as you held your arms out to the pillars, blood dripped out of your nose, it felt like your skull was about to split open. Wait for it, wait for it…

The demons surrounded you, the pillars encircling them like a ring as they closed in on you. A feral smile spread across your face. You screamed, the force of the sound tearing your throat open. You jerked your arms down, letting your power take hold in the rocks.

The pillars came crashing down around you, burying the army of demons under tons of stone they could never hope to crawl their way out of. The earth shook beneath your feet as the pillars cascaded down, cracks appearing beneath your feet. You held your ground as long as you could, trying to direct your power to bring the rocks down on only the demons. The ground beneath your feet crumbled- you lost your footing and fell to the ground, but the damage was done.

The ground beneath you caved in, burying you under dirt and stone you couldn’t feel. You couldn’t feel anything, not the earth at your back, not the dust settling over your face and getting into your eyes. Your entire body was numb and utterly spent, unable to move an inch. A final breath rattled out of your lungs, carrying a loving whisper of your husband’s name as your eyes fluttered shut, hoping you had done enough.

~~

The moment you had caught Dream’s eye, he knew you were about to do something reckless. He had to get to you, he had to stop you from needlessly sacrificing yourself. If you were gone, how could he possibly continue?

Your battle cry rang in his ears, the verbal gauntlet thrown to your enemies filling him with both pride and dread as he saw you sprint away, dozens of demons chasing after you. He froze for just a second, wanting to chase after you but unable to get his form to move. He dispatched the three demons who tried to take advantage of his momentary lapse before tearing after you.

The closer he got, the more demons got in his way. Flurries of sand tore them apart from the inside, lifted and threw them out of his path, but it still wasn’t enough to get to you in time. He heard your scream, and his blood went cold.

Morpheus arrived just in time to see the pillars of stone collapse on the horde of demons surrounding you, to hear their cries of agony and despair. The ground trembled beneath him, his brow furrowed, trying to catch a glimpse of you through the dust and rubble. You just had to be alright, you couldn’t be gone. He’d lay the entire realm to waste if you had perished while fighting his battle.

The dust settled, and the battlefield became eerily quiet. Too quiet. No sign of life remained. Dream carefully picked his way through the rubble, appearing to float over the crumbled stone. His breathing grew shallow and strained as he approached ground zero, the crater he knew had been the epicenter of your last stand.

His hands trembled and shook as he shifted the rubble, hoping against all hope that you somehow survived.

He slowly uncovered your form, horrified as more and more of you was revealed. Your face was paler than his, littered with cuts from the flying bits of rock. Blood had trickled down your face from your nose, darkened by smudges of dirt and demon grime. You weren’t moving, he couldn’t tell if you were breathing. Despite it all, your face appeared peaceful, relaxed. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought you were asleep.

“Oh my love,” he choked, gingerly taking you in his arms, “What have you done?”

~~

The climb through the dark back to consciousness was slow and arduous. A strained groan forced itself from your throat as your body’s every complaint made itself known at the same time. You ached all over, you could feel the sting of healing cuts, and it felt like your head was being squeezed in a vice. The weakness and strain sank into your bones; even squinting to keep your eyes shut against the light of wherever you were was a massive effort.

You forced yourself to take deep breaths and not panic. Slowly, you heaved your eyes open. It took a moment for your mind to catch up, but you realized that you were back in your room in the Dreaming, wearing your favorite pajamas, tucked beneath the silk sheets of your bed. Seated in a chair at your side, was Morpheus. It may have been a trick of the light, or of your exhausted brain, but his eyes appeared swollen and bloodshot, his skin wan and clammy. How long had you been out? How long had he sat by your side?

Your chapped lips stretched into a weak smile. “Dream…” you breathed, groaning softly as you shifted your hand towards him.

The Dream Lord’s eyes snapped up from the floor when he heard your voice. His eyes widened in shock, as if he had been preparing himself for the worst and was granted mercy he hadn’t expected. He took your hand in his and squeezed tightly, as if he were afraid you’d vanish the moment he let go.

He breathed out your name in trembling awe and reverence, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “What happened?” you asked softly. Dream swallowed hard.

“You used too much of your power, the pillars came down before I could reach you.” He paused. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly two days. We- I’ve been worried.” He tried to hide the tremble in his lip but failed. “I feared I had lost you.”

You blinked slowly and gave his hand a weak squeeze. “But you didn’t. I’m here, love. I’m here.” You smiled again. “Looks like I saved your ass for once.”

Morpheus couldn’t help the watery, broken chuckle that slipped out of his mouth. “You save me every day, my beautiful wife,” he murmured back, brushing a stray wisp of hair out of your face. He could see your eyes fluttering shut, sleep about to claim you again.

“Rest now,” he breathed. He brushed his lips over your forehead. “I will be here when you wake.”

[accultant]

[ HERO ]: sender notices the receiver about to fall from a height, and manages to intervene just in time, catching them before they get hurt.

get saved by a dragon, idiot - from Ormor

In hindsight, perhaps trying to snag that interesting flower sprouting out of the cliffside was a mistake. Perhaps, just maybe, it was not their best idea to inch out on what seemed to be a 'sturdy enough' bit of branch to get a closer look. And maybe, just possibly, they could have been a little more cautious rather than rushing to snatch it up before their companions notice them doing something silly and arguably 'dangerous.'

In their defense, it was a very odd-looking plant. Okay- that was a bad defense. But in defense of that, they don't get out much.

All of these realizations come just a second too late, of course, as Iago is abruptly pulled away from their curious side quest by the crack of a branch. They scramble to grab onto something to little avail and a string of uncharacteristic curses spills out of them right as their stomach drops.

What an embarrassing way to go. And I've crushed the flower, I won't even be able to find out what kind it is. Maybe I'll have time for research since it seems I will likely break every bone in my body and be bedridden for Gods know how long oh look there's the ground well this is simply the worst shit shit shit sHIT-

Ever the coward, their eyes are squeezed firmly shut when their stomach flips again, their fall brought to a halt by something other than the earth coming to meet them. They feel dizzy by the sudden change of direction and when their eyes pop back open, they feel as if they might've truly fallen and this is some sort of fever dream while they're broken and likely bleeding to death at the bottom of a cliff.

But the whizzing of air past their face and the steady bwhum bwhum bwhum (as they will later transcribe it in their journal) of large wings certainly seems real enough after a few moments of recovery. Their hand - not the one still dazedly clutching onto an absolutely obliterated flower - twitches for something to hold onto and they find only scales (Scales!?). Iago snaps back to attention in an instant as they try to sit up for a better look. The wind nearly knocks them right off again in their excitement and they have to throw themselves flat against the dragon's (DRAGON?!) back once more.

"You have to be kidding me," A delirious, adrenaline-fueled laugh bubbles out of them and they lift their head again, a little more carefully this time, eyes wide and sparkling. Any and all logic flits out of their head. Iago's incessant internal monologue and overthinking come to a blissful silence for the first time in years, replaced by pure awe.

They feel like they're nine years old again drawing pictures of dragons in the dirt outside their childhood home. This is easily one of the best things to have ever happened to them.

[pikatalia]

I am posting Chapter 1 of More Than Just A Hero again because I cannot find it anymore!!!🐶

Chapter One: Alpha Glalie

The scream that echoes across the Icelands is enough to freeze you. You straighten up, the wind clawing at your clothes, and glance around for the source of the scream. It sounded like a Pokémon, probably an alpha one from that volume. You’re closer to the Pearl Clan village than you would prefer to be with an alpha nearby, so you adjust your course and try to follow the cry.

It comes again, ringing in your ears with its intensity. But it’s what follows the scream that worries you. A shout, that of a person, one fraught with pain and fear. You pick up the pace, running through the snow now, desperate to save the poor soul that got caught up in an alpha’s wrath.

You skid to a stop at the top of a jagged hill edge, peering down at the valley below to see a Glalie building up power for an ice move. Its glowing red eyes are focused at the base of another hill, and there you spot a familiar blue and yellow uniform. Your heart stalls in your chest as you recognize the face of the Ginko Guild merchant, a man you haven’t seen since the fateful day at the Temple of Sinnoh.

Without much thought, you fling yourself down the hill, into the valley, rushing towards the two. Your shout of anger draws the attention of the alpha Glalie, who swings around with a furious cry that its attack has been interrupted by a feeble distraction. Your anger spikes – you’ve wanted to see Volo again for so long, and now here he is, about to die to this wild Pokémon.

Your hands are hot as you dodge ice shards flying at you from all around. You dart between the Glalie and Volo, ignoring whatever he’s shouting in favor of the rapid approach of the Glalie. The wind is picking up, thick slush carried with it, but you ignore the snow splattering into your face. With grit teeth, you act one instinct, throwing your fist forward in a punch-

Fiery orange sparkles alight around your fist, consuming the image of the Glalie as your fist makes contact with where the Pokémon’s nose would be, if it had one. You’re swallowed in the warmth of the flames, jerking back from your own punch with a gasp. Smoke billows from your fist, perfectly uninjured despite the fire punch move you just performed. You pant, surprised, at the reeling alpha.

The Glalie, startled by your sudden attack, flees before you can work up the rage to fire punch it again. As it disappears into the foggy distance, you remember yourself, and whip around to face the man you just saved.

Volo is pale as a ghost, clutching his janked leg as he stares up at you in utter awe. You fall to your knees beside him, frantic, and check his leg over. His pants are torn, and you can see the bad bruising of what could be a break beneath the blue fabric. If his leg is broken, you’ll probably have to carry him to camp.

“You-” Volo can’t say much more before you have his cheeks between your palms. His lips are soft against yours, but cold. Not good.

“You’re okay.” You say in relief once you pull back. Volo is slack-jawed, and doesn’t fight as you slide your arms beneath him. Surveying has paid off, for the lanky man weighs hardly anything in your arms. “I’ve got you! Let’s get you somewhere safe so you can get patched up.”

Volo is silent as you begin your trek towards the Pearl Clan village. His gray eyes bore into the side of your head, but you ignore it for now, focused on moving through the snow with delicate cargo. As the village appears on the horizon, Volo finally speaks.

“Fire came out of your fist.” He says.

“It sure did.” You respond, hiking him up further into your arms.

“How?”

“I wish I knew. Would’ve helped with surveying and quelling the nobles.”

Silence once again envelopes you both. People at the edge of the village have taken notice of you, and shout further into the village, calling for Irida. Not wanting to jostle Volo when you inevitably get crowded, you set him down on a nearby rock, careful of his leg.

To keep him warm (and safe) while you’re gone, you release your Typhlosion, Dango, and instruct him to keep watch over Volo. The merchant scoffs, but doesn’t say anything as Dango turns his attention onto him. The large Pokémon is intimidating enough to forgo any ideas of rebellion in Volo’s mind.

You rush into the village once that’s settled, nearly slamming into Irida on her way out. She grabs you by the shoulders to steady the both of you, then shakes you some.

“Where did you find Volo?!” She demands, eyes wide and bright with panic. “And why did you bring him here!?”

“There was an alpha Glalie nearby.” You explain, breathless. “It had Volo cornered, I think it broke his leg! I couldn’t just leave him to die, Irida!”

The wrinkled expression Irida’s face takes on shows that she thinks you could’ve, but she doesn’t say anything about. “Alright, alright. You’re lucky Warden Calaba is still here, helping with some illnesses that swept the clan earlier this month.”

“Do you think she can help Volo?” You ask, hands clasped before you.

“For you?” Irida asks. “Yes. For him? Not so much. I think she’ll help, but she won’t be happy about it.”

You wince. None of the clans nor the Galaxy Team are fond of Volo after his betrayal. You can understand their anger, but you’re glad Irida is willing to look past his wrongdoings to help you ensure he doesn’t die out here.

You wait at the village entrance for Warden Calaba, who sighs heavily once she’s at your side. You show her to where Dango is watching over Volo, tensing at the glare she sends the merchant.

“Broke your leg?” Calaba asks, setting down her basket of herbs to properly look over the limb.

“Possibly.” Volo responds, muted. He glares at Calaba, then at you, his cheeks rosy from the cold. You admire the color on him, then snap back to attention when Calaba starts to speak again.

“Does it hurt when I touch here?” She asks, pressing on Volo’s leg. He winces and nods. “And here?” A muffled yelp. More nodding. “And what about here?”

“Are you done!?” Volo snaps.

“That’s not even a morsel of what you deserve after all you’ve done.” Calaba snaps back. Volo wilts, growling at his lap. “You’re lucky the hero didn’t leave you to die to that Glalie. It’s what most everyone else would’ve done.”

“W-Warden Calaba.” You say, before the two can well and truly start fighting. As funny as it would probably be, watching a man with a broken leg trying to fight a ninety-nine year-old-woman, you don’t want it to come to that. Besides, Calaba would probably win, and Volo doesn’t need a bruised pride on top of his other injuries. “Is his leg broken?”

“It is.” Calaba says, clipped. She turns her nose up to Volo, then regards you with a scowl. “I don’t understand your kindness towards the betrayer, but I respect you. There’s a cabin near the Snowfall Hot Springs. Take him there, and you’ll both be safe while you rest. I’ll bring herbs that should help with his pain, and for if he happens to develop an illness or infection.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for our hero.” Calaba says with a nod. “Take him to the cabin, and splint his leg. Keep him off of it if you can.”

“I will.”

Calaba gives another nod before she starts back towards the village. “Good luck. With him, you’re going to need it.”

Silence envelops you once more. Dango huffs steam into the cold hair, lowering his head so you can pet him. The heat of his fur against your hands reminds you of the fire punch you performed. What was that, and why could you do it? Can you do it again? It’s certainly something to try, now that you’re about to have a lot of free time.

You retrieve your flute, and play on it to summon Wyrdeer. The steed comes barreling over the mountains not long after, snorting a thick steam from his nostrils once he stops before you. You coo up at the noble, and show him Volo, carefully explaining the plan. Wyrdeer doesn’t seem pleased, but he lowers himself to allow you to ease Volo onto his back. The merchant says nothing, nose wrinkled the entire time.

It’s a quiet journey through the Icelands.

[navybrat817]

Whip

Pairing: Motocross!Hal Carter x Female Reader Summary: Hal is smitten when he spots you at the tracks. Word Count: Almost 800 Warnings: Fluff, a touch of flirting, reader is a tad shy, motocross!Hal Carter (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Meet Cowboy and Belle! July has been a terrible month for me writing wise, but this is still something. Set in the world of Starting Gate, Lapper and Downshift, we'll see them again. Thanks to @book-dragon-13 for looking this over and helping with the nickname, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by @firefly-graphics and banners by @maysdigitalarts. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment as it means the world! ❤️

Hal Carter always wanted to make something of himself.

WIth his sunglistened skin, natural charm, and blue eyes that sparkled almost as bright as his smile, a few thought he should’ve been a model.

Most people in his town wrote him off as a lost cause because his dad was a bum. His own mom didn’t even believe he’d accomplish anything.

Maybe that was why he stole that dirt bike years ago.

There was no place in the world for a guy like him, so why not prove them right?

He didn’t expect to fall in love with riding or revel in the rush of adrenaline.

When he was on his bike, he didn’t feel judged. It was freedom.

But being free didn’t pay the bills, not to mention dirt bikes on public roads were illegal. 

He paid his dues and did what he could to become a racer. 

Odds and ends jobs helped him save up for equipment. He even managed to save up enough for a Motocross School a few towns over.

When he wasn’t working, he practiced on dirt roads and tracks.

Hal didn’t want to just be good. He wanted to make his mark.

What better way to stand out than to give the crowd something to make them look?

Freestyle tricks were his trademark and the thing that put him on the map. Nac-Nac, Kiss of Death, Tsunami, anything to draw a gasp from the crowd.

His Southern background and light showboating earned him the nickname Cowboy.

Some of the other riders liked to sing, “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” whenever the pit lizards hovered around him and teased it was a shame he had to cover up his handsome face.

The attention was nice, but he knew those girls didn’t care about him. He wanted someone interested in more than a thrill.

The day he met you, you weren’t paying any attention to him. 

He hadn't seen you before. No, he would've remembered you.

You stood apart from the crowd as you packed up your camera, doing your best not to draw attention to yourself. You even lowered your head when Maddox looked your way.

He had to know your name.

Before he could stop himself, he weaved through the sea of people until he stood in front of you. Part of it was to keep Maddox from bothering you, but the other was to selfishly see you up close.

He was screwed the moment you lifted your gaze and looked into his eyes, his heart doing a funny summersault when you adjusted your bag on your shoulder and curled in slightly on yourself. 

“Hi. I’m Hal Carter,” he smiled, wiping his hand on his pants before he offered it to you. "Haven't seen you around the tracks."

“Hi,” you said softly, giving him your hand after a second. It was so soft. "First time here. Just took a few photos," you cleared your throat as you glanced away and pulled your hand back.

Hal was about to ask if you were okay before he remembered he remembered he was shirtless. "Oh, sorry. I usually put another shirt on before I mingle," he teased, gesturing to his abs. 

Another one of his trademarks was throwing his shirt into the crowd once he was done. He hoped you weren't uncomfortable.

"Yo, Hal! She gonna save a horse and ride a cowboy?" Maddox yelled his way as you stiffened.

"Fuck off, Maddox," one of the other guys snapped. 

Why? Why now? If you weren't uncomfortable before…

“I’m sorry. I have to go,” you said quickly.

“Wait,” Hal begged, careful not to invade your space as you took a step back. "You said you took some photos, right?"

You nodded, gripping the strap of your bag as a few people moved closer. He wanted nothing more than to put his arm around you and draw you away from everyone. 

"I'd love to see some of the shots from today if that's okay? No hard feelings if you don't wanna."

"Okay," you smiled bashfully as you dug a card out for him. "I hope they turn out well. Your tricks were great."

Why does that sweet look make me want to ruin and take care of you?

"Thanks. I'm sure they will," he grinned, glancing at the card as he brushed his thumb along your printed name. "Nice meeting you, Belle."

"T-That's not my name."

"Should be. You're the most beautiful girl here."

You shook your head a little when his grin widened. "Bye, Hal."

He wondered if the line was cheesy, but the shy smile he caught before you walked away gave him hope. 

Looking at the card, he couldn't wait to see you again. 

He just hoped he made a lasting impression. 

Excited to share more of our motocross boys when I can. Love and thanks! ❤️

[pastelpaperplanes]

Big Ol Ask Post Pt. 3 I think

I haven���t drawn anything other than cursed or plain technical stuff w him 😔😔 have these for now but expect more soon!

anon a way back asked what he’d look like next to Overlord being already so big compared to Megs, that’s why you see Lordie if you’re wondering why he’s thrown in that line up!

by the way I have a voice claim for the big purple simp— Jenner from NIMH, he’s so awful but that suave baritone oh it fits too well >:] it’s the ‘humble servant’ line that got to me

Yep! Pharma is absolutely in this AU—as well as the CFau and Crack one too—and in all, he’s still an estranged medic long since booted from any legal work back on Cybertron.

He lost his credibility and more all those years ago when he found himself willing to do his fair share of cutting corners and hastily concealed malpractice to expedite his dream of getting his name down in the medical books—ultimately impressing his dear Mentor Ratchet, finally, in perfecting long-since banned risky experiments and surgeries—not to mention cruel and unusual temperament with the (supposedly) taboo practice of non-medicinal mnemosurgery.

His ambitions and aggression always got the bet of him, this hasn’t changed since he found himself working in freelance outposts. Light years away from Cybertron, he’s made a name for himself as a Good Doctor—but to his under-the-table black market part-dealing clients, he’s just about as bad as a Crooked Medic can get.

Bounty hunters and Arms Dealers like him for his business, a certain DJD member likes him for the occasional berth company and seemingly never ending supply of fresh T-Cogs—but no one actually likes him for his nasty temperamental personality, save for a young and naive Ratchet once upon a time.

Pharma is a roamer, as of recent he’s been a hard to reach mech—seems as if he’s found a little project to keep himself pretty occupied in the last few decades—something about a breakthrough for aiding the Decepticon Energon Crisis :] him and a small, horrifyingly cheerful surgeon are well on their way to completing their first trial batches, it’s safe to say that their little synthetic mixture will have it’s users sated and compliant.

they’ve got that amazing ‘new car smell’ those first few weeks, and instead of chittering like an Insecticons or vibrating their wings like a seeker—they beep and squeak, sometimes even honk a horn depending on the baseline altmode coding, to get their Creators’ attention before their vocalizer truly starts to kick online

It’s cute, but loud

Much like a seeker sparkling, they have to reach a certain ‘age’ (upgrade) to be able to transform completely, in between then they’re still able to rev those engines as a warning should they need it, as well as spin their wheels should they need a getaway HEELIES IF THEYRE LUCKY WOOHOOOOO—for seekers they can hover on their thrusters!

Crusade is actually pretty formal with Megatron. But yeah as a kid, Megs was always known as Carrier, but as Sadie got older and more aware of their surroundings—they definitely came to learn the true weight of that title and the fact that they were the progeny of the faction leader, a fact they should have really held onto with more pride. Not wanting to draw more attention to the already blatant favoritism (and nepotism) Crusade made a switch to addressing Megatron as Sir, My Lord, Lord Megatron, —ect. to better fit in with their fellow troops.

It bothers Megatron more than than he lets on. Crusade shouldn’t have to hide their high ranking as his child, the heir to the faction. Megs is their Carrier and can only order them around for so long, as their Leader however—pulling rank may just allow for their infuriatingly stubborn sparkling to listen to them should a day come where even a Carrier’s plea is dismissed.

Crusade does slip up every now and then and a ‘Carrier’ will slip—often hushed and annoyed though as Megs does like to tease every now and then, gotta remind them that they’re still his baby every once in a while :’)

Optimus however—whenever him and Crusade should truly reunite, will never be called Sire by Crusade, which they so heatedly established early on—Crusade never needed one and they don’t need one now, better to not let the title trigger those long-suppressed emotions. Sure enough though Optimus will get his moment.

actually no lmfao so you’re good! Eh, I haven’t mentioned much plot w them outside of them and Megs, plus bits of potential interactions with Optimus—so the rest of Team Prime is free game :D

For what I (hopefully will have) planned, their interactions with team Prime will be eh,,,interesting to each their own to say the least. Some more stressful than others BUT let’s not get into that until I’ve worked it out—for now I’ll just mention what they’re dynamics would be like when the drama of Oh Shit Boss Bot You’ve Been Hiding a Kid For HOW LONG has died down.

A usually touch-wary Crusade actually is the one to initiate a hug with Bulkhead, he’s the biggest and warmest and somehow is always happy to see them. Plus he tells cool recaps of Earth films and gifts them strange blobish paintings every now and then, all of which Crusade doesn’t exactly understand, but at least the colors are pretty.

Bee is annoying,,,which is what Crusade would say if confronted if they actually liked all the shenanigans Bee suggest they pull together, prank wars to the max, sparring for fun, video games?, DOUGHNUTS and RACES in the fortress halls??? Ahem. they are a super serious soldier, not a hooligan. But honestly, Bee is the one they seek out the most should they need an adventure, they missed out on a lot of this ‘fun’ growing up on the Nemesis—Bee seems to know how to balance a day of soldiering and dumbassery. sometimes.

Ratchet reminds them a bit too much of their Carrier than they’d care to admit. The medic is an old soul to his very core, perpetually tired but quick to snap into work mode, and sweet if you reallllllly squint. Sadie has been taught from day one to always respect medics, Ratchet obviously takes the cake on I’ve Seen Some Shit and for that alone Crusade both fears and admires Ratchet. Again, growing up on the Nemesis they didn’t have too many bots willing to talk much with them—but Ratchet (after he’s gone through his own lot of therapy, him AND Arcee. good lord) has a never ending pile of stories to share with them. Ratchet may throw in a few more colorful curses than necessary—which is SURPRISING bc Crusade thought they’d heard them all back home, but he’s entertaining and tells Crusade how it is, no sugarcoating. For that Crusade is grateful, there’s been too many half-truths thrown about to them in their recent years :’)

Ghost Prowl freaks them out—why does he deliberately have to be so sneaky?? Crusade has only met Prowl a fleeting handful of times (visits from the Allspark come with meaning, you know) and each time Crusade has been given nothing but odd riddles and poetic nonsense. Kidding. Prowl does like his wordplay’s but his given advice is always well meaning—the most firm and direct message Crusade has been passed though was probably most definitely “ Get those two cowards for mecha you call your Creator’s to stop fooling around with each other and SPEAK—at this rate it’s physically paining me that they haven’t begun Ritus and they’re not getting any younger”

Team Prime adores Sadie, they ask Megatron to see their sparkling photos every chance they catch him. And Crusade. hates it.

:) have

We’ve been here before, haven’t we?

[edensrose]

imagine the angst - saving Fëanors life from Gothmog but dying instead, with last words being "I love you... you have to survive ...for me"

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ fëanor ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. after throwing yourself in harm's way in his stead, fëanor just manages to haul you out of the battle along with his sons. it is only then does he notice your fatal wounds and panic is soon to ensue ( death ៸៸ blood mention ៸៸ angst )

· ⊰ note. okay so! I cried. A lot. BUT this was a very interesting concept and I just loved the angst, hope you enjoy!

( masterlist ) ( taglist form )

“Our medicine, now! Give it to me!” 

“Father -” 

“I will not ask you again Maedhros!”

“Fëanor,’’ your raspy voice draws him from his world of red in exchange for a new crimson when he glances down and is once again met with your seeping wounds. “My love, please, save your strength.’’ A strong hand wraps around yours, bringing it to his lips His free arm is hooked beneath your back and cradling you in a slanted position. He sat on his knees, having barely escaped the battle, that blasted creature — the one you fought in his stead. 

Barely managing to shake your head, Fëanor then returns to yelling at his son for the medicine they clearly lacked So you attempt to call out to him despite your quaking voice, the pain in your battered sides with each and every breath. He listened to none of his sons who attempted to drive the truth into him, which is why you, albeit with great difficulty, eventually caught his attention once more with a quavering murmur of his name.

“P-Please, Fëanor. I cannot — I c-cannot. . .’’ In an instant, he is cradling you further into his arms as if to shield you from the world, as if to hide you away from the reaper creeping at your door. “No, no, you can. You will. Look at me,’’ the hand leaves yours to scramble to your cheek, cupping your face and directing your eyes upon him. 

“You will be alright, please, please just keep your eyes on me.’’ Without breaking contact he once again yells for his sons - at least, that is what he thinks. It comes out as a cry, one that although tempered, brims with desperation. Yet none make a move, for they knew the medicine would make no difference.

Instead, they are forced to watch their father’s anguish as clings to you as though you were one of those Eru forsaken silmarils which brought them out here in the first place.

Fëanor finally felt the crash of each and every one of the agonies of which he was the catalyst. Finally, he realised and recognised fear. Fingers coil into your tattered robes, a voice shouts at you to keep your eyes open, to look upon him. And when you, at last, muster the strength to focus on those brilliant blue hues, you just manage to grab his wrist and in turn, bring the entirety of his attention upon you. 

“I love. . . I love you,’’

“No,’’ he quakes. “Do not say that, do not dare say that —”

“F-Fëanor,’’ you gasp, “please. . . you have to -’’ the light, one that matches the two trees of your beautiful home, the very dwelling you met this ellon, the love of your life. “Survive. . . fo-r me, f-for. . .’’

He has seen the shadow of death before, the dimming glimmer within someone’s eyes like a candle snuffed out. But Fëanor would never forget the way life drained from your face, the weight of your body limping into his arms, and most of all? The withering, greying colour of your once vibrant, adoration-filled irises. 

And for a moment he deems it untrue. He calls it a dream, blames it on a nightmare. It had to be, there was no world in which he could not see your smile again - hear your voice or have you look at him with so much ardour. There was no universe where he could no longer feel your warmth, where he could no longer hold you in his embrace. 

And yet. . .

Here he now sat. No voice, no smile, no assuring words, no warmth or comfort or glimmering sparkle and most of all. No you. 

He shakes you once, then twice, calls for you three times and when the reality finally crashed upon him like a devastating, shattering wave, he falls. Fëanor hunches over your, cradling you to his chest in an attempt to savour the last remnants of your warmth. The tears don’t fall, not yet. Instead they well within his eyes and only when his throat parts do they fall. 

Followed by a harrowing, heart-wrenching and agonised cry into the stars above.

taglist ━ @kiatheinsomniac @augustwithquills @blueberryrock @m-shade @nerdydcfan @flowerchildishere @camilomyshiningsun @bugnug @algae-rave @snakesofindia-sursesaji @theroguemaia

[johnsamericano]

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥 •2•

Hi hi! I'm back with another chapter. This one might not be as good(?, it's a really fluffy chapter so bear with me.

warnings: sugar daddy jae, he's a big baby, tooth rotting, kinda long.

sugar rush m.list.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv @sunny-nyu @nanascupid @silent-potato

“Sir, there’s a girl asking to see you.”

“Hey, I’m not a girl!” He chuckled as his finger pressed the button to communicate with his secretary.

“Hey, I’m not a girl!” He chuckled as his finger pressed the button to communicate with his secretary.

“Hey, I’m not a girl!” He chuckled as his finger pressed the button to communicate with his secretary.

“Let her in.”

Only a few seconds later, your head was peeking through his door.

“I brought you coffee.” You extended your hand out, showing him the carton containing two iced drinks. “Are you busy?”

“Not at all, come in.” You sat on the elegant, individual sofa in front of him, his desk serving as a separation. “Are you here to spy on me? Don't you trust me with your father's case?” He pouted, typing something in his keyboard while your palms started sweating.

How could you not trust the man with the highest case winning index in the whole country?

Briefly, after your encounter with the other lawyer, you'd googled him as well as his company. Because of his incredibly high fees, he didn't have many clients, but those few who had enough money to cost him were almost assured to be on the winning side. So then, why hadn't an excellent lawyer like him popped up when you'd first looked for popular firms? Simple, he wasn't popular.

Just like a hidden gem, only a few had the pleasure to know Yoonoh, and you felt beyond grateful for paying that stupid membership weeks ago.

“No, no!” You were quick to defend yourself, frantically shaking your hands to support your previous statement. “Just wanted to be of help.”

Truth to be told, after receiving your first weekly allowance, an unsettling feeling had been squeezing your heart ever since. Call it guilt or whatever, but it didn't set right to be receiving si much help from him when you hadn't had the chance to do anything in return. The least you could do was trying to be polite.

“You shouldn't be spending your money on me. I'm the one supposed to spoil you, remember?” He grabbed the plastic container by the lid, sipping the bitter liquid with an amused smile. “But thank you.”

“I paid my rent yesterday.” You blurted out, trying to avoid the uncomfortable silence threatening to settle between the two of you. “And I still have money left to save for my father's hospital bills, maybe even buy a present for my aunt.”

He admired how noble you were, making sure those around you had enough before even thinking to do something for yourself.

“I have a party this Friday, would you like to attend with me?” Your presence wasn't required as it wasn't a big event, but by the look in your eyes, he knew you were itching to do something in return for his kindness.

“Yes, of course!” Your orbs sparkled with excitement, finally feeling yourself useful.

“If you don't mind waiting, we can go buy something for you to wear right after I finish with this.” For what seemed like the tenth time in less than ten minutes, small beads of sweat rolled down the back of your neck. Thank God he wasn't able to see them. “Oh, come on, don't give me that look!”

“You’ve already done so much for me. I can buy the clothes myself, don't worry.” With a deep sigh, Yoonoh rose from his chair, taking long strides to surround the desk separating you. “W-what are you doing?” Now kneeling on the floor beneath you, his face was dangerously close to yours, coffee breath crashing against your nose.

“Using mind control to convince you to let me take you out.” He stared at you for a couple more seconds before saying: “Is it working?”

“I think your mind control is broken.” You whisper, unable to hold back the small giggles bubbling at the back of your throat.

“How about now?” He batted his eyelashes, trying to act cute despite his bold features. You shook your head.

Just as you thought it was over, his hand went up to cup your jaw, his thumb drawing uneven figures on the ticklish skin.

“How about now?” He repeated. You stammered, unsure of what to say. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” Aware of your awkwardness and the rising heat in your cheeks, he stood up, walking back to his chair. “But I do want to get you something, would you let me?”

With your mind busy and your guard low, you nodded, unaware of the silly smile on his face.

“I have a few novels on my shelf in case you want something to kill time.”

“Thank you.” You moved to the huge bookshelf facing his desk, grateful your face wasn't visible anymore.

The books were ordered by genre and size, starting from the biggest law-related textbooks to pocket-sized novels, ending with the smallest one he had. The little prince.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Yoonoh didn't seem to be the type to read that kind of heartbreaking yet beautiful book. Nonetheless, as many said, you can't judge a book by its cover.

An hour or two later, you were halfway into the first book of flowers in the attic, immersed in the small world the author had created. Yoonoh had finished his work a few minutes before, but distracting you when you were reading so vividly, seemed like a crime. He enjoyed the way your eyebrows would knit together every time something shocking happened, clearly too immersed in the novel to notice his intense gaze.

“Y/n...” He whispered once he noticed you were starting a new chapter. You blinked twice, hands clutching the book tightly as you noticed he had finished his work. “You can take it home, don't worry.”

“Sure?” He flashed his pretty dimples as his eyes turned into half-moons.

“You can come back for the rest of the saga when you finish this one. Take as many books as you please, I’ve already read them all.”

“Thank you.” Another act of kindness you had no way of returning. His favors just seemed to be piling up before you could even return any. “Would you like to have dinner with me today? I'm a great cook, or so did my father said.” You blurted out quickly, twisting your hands nervously as you waited for an answer.

“I’d love to. But I might have to attend some work calls if you don't mind.”

“I don't, maybe I'll even have time to bake a cake while you're at it.” God, how bad he wanted to take a picture of that adorably nervous smile.

“Great, so it's settled. Dinner at your place after we go shopping.” He had already put his blazer on, offering his arm to guide you out. With shaky fingers and sweaty armpits, you grabbed it, walking by his side with his secretary’s gazed glued on you. So much for a girl, huh?

Once seated in his car, with the book resting on your lap, you allowed yourself to relax. Yoonoh wasn't a bad person, on the contrary, he was very kind, so there was no use in keeping your guard up when he was around.

“Ready to roll?” You cringed at his use of slang, making him drop his head back to laugh. “What? Isn't it a thing you cool young adults say?”

“Maybe twenty years ago, Yoonoh.” It was the very first time you used his name so informally, and, oh how good it felt to hear you saying it?

“Fine, I won't use it anymore.” He poked your arm like a little child, and for a moment, you wondered if he was actually more than a decade older.

Several bad jokes, two dresses, and a quick stop at the grocery store later, you arrived at your apartment. Yoonoh held everything while you entered the passcode, struggling not to drop a can of vegetables that was starting to bend the edge of the paper bag.

“Ready, hand me something.” You both entered with your hands packed with different things. You went to your room to leave the new dresses while Yoonoh set the paper bags down on the kitchen counter.

“So...” He clapped loudly. “What are we cooking?”

“I bought the ingredients for lasagna. Is that okay with you?” He nodded, lips pressed and dimples in display. “Alright, let's do this.”

It would've been of great help if Yoonoh had told you he didn't know how to cook. But of course, part of the fault was yours for not noticing when he tried to add ketchup to the recipe.

“I burnt it.” He looked at the semi-carbonized pasta with disgust, feeling ashamed of having ruined your dish. “Let’s just throw it away and order something.” He was about to touch the hot container until your grip on his wrist halted his movements.

“We just pulled it out of the oven.” You shook your head in disbelief at the man standing in front of you.

“Sorry.”

Despite Yoonoh’s endless complaining, you ate the lasagna. The flavor wasn't that bad when you scratched off the burnt parts, especially when accompanied by a cold glass of wine.

“It’s not that bad.” You repeated over and over again. A phone call interrupted him from self-pitying any further. “Go on, take it.” You continued eating while he spoke in the living room.

It wasn't until a couple of minutes later that you realized he was whisper yelling at whoever was on the other line. It was your first time seeing him angry, and you didn't like it one bit. The way his face turned completely stoic, his eyes cold as his hand rested on his hip. Sweet, caring, Yoonoh was gone.

“I told you I needed it for today.” He said through gritted teeth. “You better get it before I arrive back at the office, or you can find yourself another job.” Even after he hung up, Yoonoh stood in the middle of the shared area, clutching his phone so tightly, it seemed like it would break any minute.

You wanted to ask if everything was alright, if he needed any help, but most importantly, if the things he needed were related to your father's case, but all the words stuck to your throat like insects in a spider web.

“I need to go.” He simply said, not even bothering to fake a smile. “Thank you for dinner, I'll see you on Friday.” With his free hand, he grabbed the coat hanging from his chair and left, slamming the door on his way out.

Was that the real Yoonoh?

A shiver ran down your spine. What had you gotten into? From what you'd seen, it was only about time he would show his true self to you as well.

All the trust you'd built up during the day, had crumbled down in a matter of seconds. The worst part? You didn't even feel entitled to be scared, not after all he'd done for you.

‘Just keep your distance.’ You repeated like a mantra as you got ready for bed, leaving the book you'd borrowed right where he'd left it, afraid it would burn your fingertips even with the slightest touch.

(...)

The week wasn't nearly as long as you'd wanted it to be, and soon enough, you were struggling to zip the dress you'd bought days ago. Your makeup was done, and Yoonoh had texted you he was on his way, yet, you'd been fighting with the zipper for at least ten minutes. Your fingers were cramping, and the clock was ticking.

Just when you'd finally started to drag the small piece of metal, the doorbell startled you, causing you to let go of it.

“Fuck!” Have you ever felt so desperate that tears start pricking your eyes? Well, that was the exact case happening at the moment.

You opened the door with the salty water collecting at the corner of your eyes, surprising Yoonoh, who was wearing his best dimply smile.

“What’s wrong?” He had a bouquet poorly hidden behind his back, probably to apologize for the night he abruptly left and almost knocked down your door.

“I-I can't zip up my dress.” Your voice came out shaky, giving away the emotions burning your gut. Thankfully, Yoonoh didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he didn't mention it.

“I’ll help you.” He, not-so-discretely, put down the bouquet, gently turning you around to your discomfort. His cold hands touched your back as he dragged the zip up, noticing how tense you were but deciding not to comment on it. “Oh! You haven't moved the book from where I left it.”

“I haven't had time to read.” He hummed, crouching to reach for the bouquet and hand it to you. “Thank you.”

“It’s my way of apologizing for the fit I threw a couple of days ago.” A fit? That was one way to call it.

“It’s okay.” You lied as you pushed the corners of your lips to form a credible smile. “Let’s get going.”

The flowers were left on the kitchen counter before you left. The ride in the elevator was awfully quiet, and Yoonoh had no idea what had happened. You were so chatty the last time he saw you, so of course, he was taken aback by the sudden change.

“It’s not going to take long, so we can head out for some drinks later if you'd like...” You nodded, for you knew speaking would only expose your discomfort. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah! Just nervous about the party, that's all.”

You stood by Yoonoh’s side for the rest of the evening, smiling and nodding at his acquaintances’ comments. At one point in the evening, a man, not much older than you, approached you both with a wide smile.

“Dude, I hadn't seen you in ages. Stop sending your workers and come see me yourself.” They hugged. Why were they hugging?

“Y/n, this is my brother, Sungchan.” The man with puppy-like eyes embraced you tightly, almost as if welcoming you to his family. “Sungchan, this is y/n, my girlfriend.” He said it so naturally, it’d take a detective to figure out the truth about your relationship.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I'm sorry for your father. But don't worry, we'll take those bastards down.”

“I’m not following...” You blinked repeatedly, eyes going back and forth between Yoonoh and his brother.

“Sungchan is a doctor. I asked him to look at your father's case for further evidence. My assistant was supposed to pick up the report the day we had dinner, but she forgot to drop by. Now we’re a day behind schedule.” The dark cloud surrounding him seemed to be slowly dissipating as you heard his explanation. “This is an important case, and I want to be as meticulous as possible.”

Thank you didn't seem the right thing to say at the moment, at least not with Sungchan standing there, so you simply grabbed his hand, squeezing it to let him know how grateful you were.

To your surprise, he didn't even flinch as he locked your hands together, causing a small giggle from Sungchan.

“Okay, love birds, I'll get going.” He waved you goodbye, making his way to another table where his friend waited for him.

“Can we talk?” You whispered in his ear, afraid one of the numerous attendants would hear you.

“Sure.” Without letting go of your hand, he drove you to a small, private garden just outside the ballroom. “Are you gonna tell me what's wrong now?” His thumb caressed your knuckles with gentle strokes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What for?”

“I pushed you away at the minimum trouble when you were only helping me.” He hummed as if he already knew about it. “And it will probably happen again, so please, be patient with me. I'm going through-” Your face collided against his chest as his arms draped over your shoulders, squeezing you tightly.

“Call me reckless, but I've wanted to do this for a while.” Your hands hung at the sides of your torso, unsure what to do next. “You can push me away, I'll understand...”

Instead, your palm found its place in his back, rubbing up and down the designer jacket. Your hair started turning messy from the night breeze, some strands striking Yoonoh’s chin as his embrace only grew tighter.

“Let’s get out of here.” He mumbled, crawling the back of your head with his hand. “Sungchan can deal with my father's friends.”

“Are you sure?” His hum vibrated through his chest, making you giggle at the odd feeling.

Once seated in his car, his hand found yours like a magnet, the warmth emanating from it comfortably enveloping your skin.

The calmness of the atmosphere was interrupted by a call from his brother, who seemed to be anxiously explaining something through the phone.

“Just tell him I had a work emergency.” With that said, he hung up, placing his hand back again on top of yours. “Sorry, he said it was urgent.”

“It’s okay.” An unsettling feeling pinched your stomach, but you decided to dismiss it, immersed in the chilly weather of the dark streets.

You arrived at the river, where Yoonoh asked you to wait for him while he bought a couple of beers. It was a sight to see, both of you clad in fancy clothes, barefoot and chugging down can after can.

“I think I like being with you.” You declared, mind fuzzy from the alcohol intake.

“I think I like it too.” The tips of his ears were rosy, revealing he was as intoxicated as you, maybe even more.

“Would you like to visit my father with me tomorrow?” The words flew out of your mouth before you could even realize. Afraid you'd killed the mood, you tried to excuse yourself, only to be interrupted by his lips grazing your ear, placing a timid kiss on your lobe.

“I’d love to.” It was the sweetest peck, no ulterior motives behind it, just pure affection.

“Are we going too fast?” In your drunken state, what you had felt like a real relationship, not a simple agreement. And this sure felt like a first date.

“We’re moving at our own pace, I believe.” He dropped his head on your shoulder, pressing against it to relieve the dizziness clouding his mind. “Are you okay with that? Maybe you don't want to be with an old creep like me, and I'd totally get it. Just don't let me get my hopes up if that's the case.”

“You might be old, but definitely not a creep.” Your fingers combed through his abundant hair as your mind wandered into the future, grateful for the fact that he wouldn't become bald soon. “Or are you?”

“I don't think so.” Anyone who walked by would've seen a couple of goofs, too intoxicated to talk without slurring the words, but you were living in your own, comfy bubble. “I should get you home before it gets too late. Come on, I'll call a driver.” He tried getting on his feet to no avail, stumbling back a little before falling back on his ass.

“My apartment is nearby. You can stay for the night.” You grabbed both pairs of shoes as his arm surrounded your shoulder for assistance. “If you keep supporting your whole weight on me, we're both gonna fall.” People on the street shot you a couple of funny looks, which was understandable since it wasn't usual to see two drunk idiots walking barefoot in the middle of the night.

“How long till-” Hiccup. “-we get there?” His stare seemed to worsen with every step. “God, I think I might throw up.”

“Stop acting like a teenager, we're almost there.”

As soon as you arrived at the small apartment, you sat him down on the little step where you changed your shoes. You left both pairs on the rack, proceeding to put on slippers to enter the house.

“Don’t leave me here!” He whined, stomping his feet like a little kid.

“Just wait for a second!” His attitude was starting to get on your nerves to the point where you couldn't feel the effects of the beer anymore.

You grabbed a rag from the kitchen cabinet and dampened it under the sink. Yoonoh was half asleep when you walked back to him.

“My head hurts.” He mumbled as you sat in front of him, placing his left foot on your lap. “What are you doing?”

“I don't have any slippers that will fit you, and I don't want your dirty feet making my house dirty.” With utmost delicacy, you wiped away the dirt from his toes, noticing the small scratches caused by the gravel he walked on.

He touched your hair while you finished with his other foot, tangling the strands with fascination.

“Done, get up.”

He followed your indications as you guided him to your room, where you laid him down on his side in case he threw up.

“Are we visiting your father tomorrow?” He asked while snuggling under the covers.

“Sure.” You cleared his forehead from the strands falling in it, grazing the soft skin of his forehead. “Sweet dreams, gigantic baby.”

[bokettochild]

Touch and Go

Whumptober Day 6: Touch-Starved

Is this late? yes.

Is this proofread? No.

But I had Feelings about this one, so please excuse the shameless hurt/comfort and Legend fluff at the end, and let me project my lonely ass onto my favorite character again.

I hope y'all enjoy! Consider this a break from the unresolved whump of the last few prompts.

There are days when Legend really hates being alive.

Today's one of those days. Today's one of those horrid days when everything is cold and everything is bitter and all he can do is snap when Wind chatters at his side. All he can do is bark out something harsh and cruel that makes the sailor avert dark eyes and slowly move away from him.

The kid has spirit, he'll say that at least. Wind doesn't blubber up and cry about it, just looks hurt and walks away, shoulder's stiffening as the kid wanders over to stand next to Warriors instead, thin arms wrapping tight around the sailor's chest as the kid hugs himself, only relaxing slightly when Wars buries his hand in the kid's hair and gives the golden locks a gentle tussle. The kid's lips twitch as he stares up at Wars with his big dark eyes, rain pattering over his face as the captain throws the end of his scarf over the kid's head.

Legend pulls his own cloak closer and purposefully ignores the exchange as he continues to slosh through the mud.

They've come to Sky's world and while the area isn't one that the Chosen Hero recognizes immediately, Wild had climbed a tree a while back (regardless of the clouds that threaten lightning or the rain that makes the bark slippery) and called out the direction of what he was certain was a village. At any other time, Wind would climb up after the champion with his telescope to confirm, but Time isn't willing to take that risk and instead called Wild down back to them.

The champion trudges on ahead, laughing light and free as rain soaks through log golden hair and Twilight fusses and scolds like a worried mother cuckoo, trying to make the champion pull up the hood of his cloak while the rancher's own furry hood bobs low enough to cover his eyes, making Wild only laugh harder. The hood has ears, he notes with a scoff, and Twilight doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed at that, instead punching Warriors' shoulder when the man points it out, a toothy grin on the rancher's face while the captain shoots him a hurt look, rubbing his bruised shoulder with something like a pout.

Time's own soft chuckles mix with the light patter of rain, and Legend takes a moment to consider why the man isn't earing a cloak, only to realize that Hyrule isn't either, and that his protege is darting about in the rain with a bright smile that stretches all the way to his slowly flapping ears, the kid practically flittering about Time and giggling as the cold and wet rain dribbles through his curls and sings against their leader's armor.

Legend huffs, wrapping his own cloak tight about himself. Fine, let the other's catch cold for their foolishness. Let Time be sneezing his obnoxiously loud sneezes and Hyrule low himself back with the force of his own. Let Wild be red in the face and nasally for the next week, it's their own fault for being such blasted idiots! He'll just wear his wool cloak, thank you very much! He'll tuck it close and wrap it around and around and-

Another cold breeze makes Wind giggle as it swipes through the sailor's curls and send Warriors huffing out complaints. Wild laughs louder as Twilight's hood is pushed back, dampening the rancher's dark hair as the man sighs in defeat. Four giggles from where they're hiding with Sky under the sailcloth, the fabric held over their heads like an umbrella as they walk, both red in the face from the cold but dry save for the feet that squelch through the mud.

Legend only shivers and pulls his cape closer. How is this funny to them? How is rain nice enough to play in or laugh or try and sing, like Time is doing? Rain is cold and miserable and wet, and he's shivering as he pulls on his hood with a firm tug. It's too cold, and too wet and the only thing he really wants is to find somewhere where he can just collapse into the corner and sit. He's not asking for one of Uncle's old oversized tunics, or a warm fire, or even a mug of Ravio's cocoa, all he wants is to sit down and just... be.

It's dark out here and it's dark inside and it's dark everywhere and all he wants is to sit in the darkness and let himself flop against whatever happens to be available and just sit, mind blank, body still, nothing and no one needing him and nothing and no one to disturb him.

"Lights ahead!" Four calls back to them with a bright grin, red cheeks nearly glowing as their eyes sparkle the same color, and beside the smithy Sky perks up, ears twitching slightly as a grin break across his face. "It's the village!"

In seconds Sky has scooped Four up and started jogging towards the lighted houses before them, ignoring as the smithy laughs out warnings about asthma and slippery paths, and Legend can only shake his head slowly with a sigh as the others follow suit, even Time. Honestly, where are they getting this much energy?

When they reach the settlement it's to find Sky and Four both covered in mud and Sun and Sky's big red-head friend waiting at the door of the common house with towels and hearty laughter.

there's still a lot to be done here to make a proper village, but for the time being those who are constructing it have settled in a large common house that Sky's told them will one day be a festival and meeting hall. "Maybe even a school," the Chosen Hero had grinned. There are mostly only a few villagers who rotate out to help with construction in turns, but on the rare visit the heroes have had here, Sun and- Goose? Gross? Whatever the heck the man's name was- are always there to greet them with wide smiles and exuberant displays of affection for their best friend.

Even now, Sky is tucked under the red-heads arm, playfully protesting the fist that rubs over the knight's head, even as Four sits atop the big man's other shoulder, laughing and swinging their feet gently at the sight of their predecessor getting a noogie.

Legend sweeps past the chaos with a sigh, briefly accepting the towel Sun offer to him with a tender smile. He doesn't even bother shedding his boots, no matter how touchy his is about it in his own home, and instead flops down in the only place that doesn't seem to be occupied and gives his hair and face a quick rub with the towel before laying it aside and leaning back against the wall.

Cheery voces and laughter sound around him, but it's like a dark cloud hangs over him as he wraps his arms tight around his chest and curls up.

Even next to the roaring fire, he's cold. It's like his bones are cold, even as sweat starts to bead at his brow, and a shiver still manages to travel through him as one of the former Skyloftians stokes the roaring flames.

He's not sick, he's been wrapped to tight in warm clothes recently to have gotten a cold or something, and anything contagious hasn't been run into as they dart across worlds after the shadow. Still, he's cold, and almost hollow feeling as he presses his hands to his ears to try and block out Wind's laughter. The sound hurts, even though he doesn’t know why. His head isn’t pounding but his chest aches and throbs around nothing at the sound. His throat is tight and his bones continue to ache miserably as he finally pulls his discarded towel over his head and ears in a last-ditch attempt to stop all the noise coming over to him.

Once, he’d worried about this sort of thing. He’d panicked when he stopped being able to feel properly warm and when his bones never quite settled. Now, sitting beside the biggest freaking fire he’s ever seen outside of a festival, he accepts the chill in his bones with an exhaustion that settled in ages ago.

Violet eyes flitter shut slowly as he tries to focus on the crackle of flames, a sound he can always rely on to help him settle himself. He has to drop the towel, but the others have dulled their chatter to a quiet murmur as something clatters and sheet shuffle over the fresh wooden floor. There's the occasional laugh from one of the others, but it’s nothing he can’t handle as he wraps his damp cloak closer around him.

He could ignore it. He could get up and join the others and just ignore the cold empty hollow inside of him, but today he just wants to be. He doesn’t want to fight it, and he doesn’t want to bother using energy to ignore it. The cold cave in his chest is there and it’s not going away so he may as well accept it and t himself just drift along in the amid the cheer of the evening.

The others seem keen on leaving him alone, letting him brood in silence as Wild darts over briefly with a warm smile and an even warmer bowl of seasoned rice. The kid called this stuff pudding, but there’s nothing smooth and creamy about it. It’s good though, and he accepts the bowl with his usual nod of thanks before Wild is darting back to the others where they sit around a rough wooden long table. His brothers are all laughing and chatting with the big Goose man, and only Sun spares him a curious glance before her attention is swept up by Hyrule, who presents her with something that makes the woman blush and beam as she wraps the traveler in a warm hug.

Pain pangs through his chest as the vet lowers his bowl. He’s not... he’s not hungry he finds, staring down at the sweet and seasoned rice with apathy. He’s not really upset about not being hungry, not surprised either, just... it is what it is.

Gnarled fingers reach up and he twines a lock of pink hair through his fingers, violet gaze darting up to the table across the room as the others continue their ceaseless chatter. No one looks at him, and it draws a sigh of relief from him as he loosens up a bit.

He’s not proud of how he handles the cold, not of how he fills the emptiness enough that it stops aching. It’s embarrassing really, but he’d rather handle it himself than have to get attached to having someone else ease the ache for him.

Long ears droop slightly as he runs his nails over their shells, rubbing behind his own ears like a goddess darned weirdo and letting his other hand brush through his hair again. It’s grown some, catching on his shoulders when he turns his head and he debates letting it grow out long again for a moment. It would be more convenient when switching with Fable to not have to put on a wig, but he’s not overly keen on having to take care of the long tresses again and long hair does get so easily tangled.

There’s a burst of laughter from the table again, and while he glances up quickly, hands drawing away for a moment he finds relief in the fact that the others are all too busy teasing the captain for one thing or another to bother looking over at him. Relief blossoms in his chest as he rubs his own ears again.

It’s stupid, he knows it, but being touched, being close to someone is the only way to make this never-ending emptiness fill for a little bit, and if he just ignores it, it gets more and more unbearable. Once, Fable had thought he’d been cursed, he’d been so stiff and shivery, and it didn’t help that the bags under his eyes had grown dark enough that he looked like he’d been in a brawl. He’d explained he was just tired, restless after returning from the sea and unable to sleep properly without fear of dreaming. But sleep was the only relief from being utterly and completely empty, so he was caught in flux, perpetually tired and cold and both wishing for sleep and doing all in his power to avoid it.

Fable had dragged him up to her room and nestled them both into her big bed, her favorite fuzzy pink blanket tucked up so tightly around him that he couldn’t even squirm free as she’d wrapped him a hug and started to try and sing. It was horrible, and he’d very nearly cried at his sister’s off-key screeching right in his ear, but she’d promised to be quiet, grinning like a gremlin, if only he would lay still. He had, and the next thing he knew it was lunchtime the next day and Fable was laughing her ass off because he apparently both drooled and talked in his sleep.

He wishes Fable was here now. She’s the only one Hylia can’t rip away from him, because she's the freaking princess and needs to rule Hyrule one day. She’s safe, she won’t disappear or die before her time or leave like everyone else. She’s the only constant he can rely on, and more than anything he wants to feel small beside her as she teases him and plays with his pink hair and jokes about bunnies and cherries and Ravio and a dozen other things that make him scowl usually but only provide a constant stream of chatter when he’s too tired to care anymore.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember the last time he slept properly, and as he tugs the tip of his own ear he briefly wonders, entirely too spent to care how pathetic it sounds, if the others have even noticed.

As laughter bubbles up across the room from him he lets self-pity take over as wonders if they even miss him right now, so happy and warm and content together. War’s is dozing, propped up on his fist and instants away from either landing in Twilight’s food or on his shoulder, and the rancher doesn’t look like he knows which would be worse. Sky is already conked out against the Goose man, snoring softly and drooling on his friend’s arm while the others continue their yammering, Time’s hand is buried idly in Four’s hair and Hyrule and Wild are both leaning back in their seats with easy smiles that whisper warnings that the two might topple over at any minute. Only the rancher and Wind seem to be keeping awake enough to talk to Sun and the other settlers, Goose long since having left the discussion to set his big boots on the table and listen in, only throwing out the occasional comment that has Sun blowing out her cheeks and rolling her eyes as they glitter with stifled laughter.

It’s downright homey.

Legend curls up tighter. Call him a crybaby, but he wants to go home.

It’s over sooner than later, but not soon enough, and as Time and Goose exchange snarky quips, both dragging their friends and brothers over to some of the spare beds, Legend has given up self-soothing to curl in on himself. He’s still wet, still cold, and by now the damp on his face isn’t from the rain they came in from a couple hours ago. He’s exhausted and he really wants to pass out, but he’s too sore and distracted and that itself is enough to make his eyes water in frustration as his ringer fingers dig into his arms hard enough to leave bruises.

He hardly registers when something brushes against his boot, but then something warm is pressed to his cheek and the vet darts back in surprise and fear at the sudden sensation eyes wide as they stare up to meet twinkling blue.

Sun is as warm as her name and her eyes twinkle like the night sky itself, full of light and life and hope that Legend hasn’t seen on the face of any living being ever. “Hey,” the goddess incarnate hums softly, like she’s approaching a particularly skittish remit, head cocked and hand extended cautiously, “You okay there, little hero?” Her voice is warm, rich and deep in a way he hadn’t expected but that somehow suits her better than the voice he’d imagined his comrade’s fiancé to have.

He blinks up at her, startled, mind empty as Hylia herself stands over him with concern in her blue eyes.

This... is weird.

The goddess tilts her head softly, golden hair brushing over her rosy cheeks charmingly as thin brows pull together in a light frown that makes him feel guilty for being its cause. “Are you alright?”

The hand reaches out again, and he has to try hard not to shiver as it presses against his brow again, impossibly warm and gentle and...

“You don’t seem to have a fever.” Hylia herself hums softly, scooching closer with worry glimmering in her gaze, hand pulling back at his continued grimace. “Hey.” His ears flicker slightly at the call as the woman before his ducks her head to be closer to his eye level. “Is something wrong? Are you-” royal blue widens as the woman reaches out yet again, stopping herself inches away as he flinches back. “Are those tears?” She whispers softly, but the question isn’t directed at him, so he avoids her gaze and shuffles in on himself again.

He expects that Hylia- Sun? - will back away, will wander back to her bed with furrowed brows and a shaking head as she dismisses the sorry bundle of self-pity sitting in the corner from her mind. He’s expecting a heavy sigh and the rustling of fabric as she pushes up and away. He’s expecting the chill that travels down his spine at the thought of sitting alone while the others curl up in their shared beds. He doesn’t expect the warm hands that settle on his back as toned arms wrap loosely around him, golden hair drifting into his vision as warmth spread through at every place that the goddess incarnate’s skin pressed against him.

He doesn’t expect the sob that rises in his throat either, or the desperate clutch onto the woman’s blouse as he silently begs her not to let go.

“You’ve been sad for a long time, haven’t you?” Rich tones whisper softly into his ears as one hand rubs up and down his back. “I’m sorry.”

Tears prick at his eyes again and when the woman pulls him forwards, he doesn’t resist as he’s pulled up into her lap, strong arms wrapping tight around him as a golden-head rests against his own. He hardly knows Sun, but he hardly cares right now as warmth surges through him from where he’s tucked in her arms, and even if his back is cramping up and his fingers are sore from how tight they’re holding her blouse, even if he’s flushed and embarrassed and blubbering, he doesn’t care, because the empty cold inside of him isn’t as heavy, and the heavy weight on his chest has lifted enough for him to breathe.

“Hush,” The goddess breathes against his ears. “Let it all out, little chick.”

Sobs stutter in his throat as long fingers rub against his back, a light hum filling the silence between gasping sobs as the goddess's own ballad drifts through the air, the notes of Zelda’s lullaby lilting through the melody as Sun rocks gently in place, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head as he continues to soak her in rainwater and tears.

They stay like that he doesn’t know how long, long enough that he’s sore and his eyes are puffy and his throat aches and everything is sore and darkness tints his vision as he sags in the arms that hold him. The Goose man’s voice rumbles something nearby, and Sun whispers something back, hands buried in his hair and brushing through it with delicious care as he lets the world fade from his mind. Briefly, he registers being shifted, lifted maybe as Sun continues to sway and sing. Numbly, he recognizes something warm being pressed to his lips and something warm and soothing trickling down his raw throat as he nuzzled closer to the damp fabric of Sun blouse. He’s past shame now, too tired to care how childish or ridiculous he may look as he revels in the touch, the gentle, goddess blessed touch of warmth that presses in around him and smothers the cold in his bones. Th empty cave in his chest is glowing softly with light, even as darkness washes over him and his eyes fall shut.

The goddess’s ballad- lullaby? - is the last thing he registers before the world fades.

[clefairymuke]

oiiii i have a request for a oneshot or maybe something fun to add to your regrets fic (whatever you find better) I think it would be funny a reader x the scouts drunk and levi finding them and being all cute taking care of reader :3

thank you for this request!! sorry for how long it took, but it managed to pull me out of some writers block that’s been kicking my ass lately. thank you for suggesting it and reading!

as always, much love! <3

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Red Wine | Levi x Reader

pairing: levi x reader

themes: fluff

tw: swearing, alcohol use

word count: 2511

True fun and relaxation is not something you typically experience.

Of course, when you signed up for this whole Scout Regiment thing, you weren’t expecting nights out in bars and plush queen-sized beds with wool blankets. You expected exactly what you got: exhausting days and mostly sleepless nights, demanding grief and waking nightmares. One thing you hadn’t expected, however, was how stale it would get. These thoughts are why you ended up where you are now: propped lazily against a wall surrounded by your friends, loud laughs bubbling freely from your ever-smiling mouth, and a bottle of wine in hand.

While the “why” is clear to you, the “how” is a bit more cloudy. Around the complete euphoria in your head stands a thick fog blocking your memory — that, or the fact that your drunkenly dwindling attention span can no longer support a thought lasting more than a second or two. All you know is that you’re here now, and you’re having the time of your life. Your eyes and ears skirt past Eren and Jean arguing without stopping to listen in as you pass the bottle to Mikasa.

For once, you aren’t thinking about how Levi could make this experience better. Although you love being in the company of your boyfriend, you can’t help but imagine his disdain if he were to witness your situation. You can almost feel the ferocity of his razor sharp-glare creeping up your spine as you picture it within your mind.

You lay your head back on the concrete wall that keeps you upright and close your eyes. Although you had shown to be quite social when the bottle first began to be passed, you now wanted nothing more than to take a nice nap — or to go vomit just to ease yourself of the queasy feeling that was overtaking your stomach. Either would suffice. You listen to your friends chatting mindlessly around you, their care to be inconspicuous slipping away with the wine. You watch Connie drain what was left in the bottle, leaving you to curse at the fact that you would be stuck in the uncomfortable kind of drunk that left you a bit nauseous while still conscious enough to be prone to anxiety.

You sit there in a dizzy oblivion for what could have been five minutes or fifty, tuning out the antics of the rest of the people in the room as they laugh and roughhouse. Your stomach stirs and turns, but your mind begins to clear: you notice Connie and Sasha choreographing a dance routine to music only they could hear; Mikasa and Armin sit quietly chatting behind Eren as he and Jean argue over who is more adept at fighting; Ymir and Christa are making googly eyes at each other over their giggles.

“Hey, guys?” you say, your brain lagging behind your mouth by at least a few seconds. “I’m probably about to throw up.” You quickly discover that you’re right, as your gut begins to bubble and your mouth begins to water.

“Oh, fuck,” Connie mumbles as he looks around the room desperately. Sasha looks disappointed as he stops dancing and approaches where you sit against the wall, gripping your wrists in his hands and helping you to your feet; with both of you being drunk enough to show it, stumbles are surely present. Time skips, and you’re kneeled in front of the toilet, Connie leaving to give you privacy — you’re decidedly much drunker than you thought you were.

Just as you start to vomit, you hear Eren defeatedly say, “Oh, fuck me.” That can’t be good.

The space goes silent save your groans. The most imaginative depths of your brain think that perhaps a titan is looking in the window, waiting to bring you all to your doom. How convenient for half of the newest scout recruits to be intoxicated and defenseless. When you hear Levi’s voice say, “Stupid fucking brats. Where is she?” you wish it were a titan instead.

A chorus of voices answer, “Bathroom.” What a bunch of fucking sellouts, you think to yourself. Your heartbeat begins to pound in your throat again as you hear his footsteps grow near; when he taps at the door a few times, you let it all out — out of fear or simple drunkenness you are unsure. “God damn it,” you hear him mumble before the door handle turns and his hands find your hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail.

He rubs your back in a manner you can only describe as passive-aggressive. You can tell he wants to scold you — and you’re definitely in for it once you get to feeling better — but you can also tell that he wants to care for you. That’s why you try to pretend not to hear his curses as he lectures you on responsibility.

“Why the hell are you drinking with these idiots? I wouldn’t be mad if it was a glass or two, but there are three empty bottles on the floor in there. Three. No wonder you’re puking your fucking guts up,” he mutters, voice low enough for only you to hear despite his angry tone.

You feel your eyes watering as your stomach settles for another brief moment. “Levi,” you say, your breathing labored, “now is not the time.” You hear him scoff before you begin to dry heave, his hand moving a bit more caring across your back as he holds onto your hair. Your gut starts to feel a bit better as your brain realizes there’s nothing left. He places his hands under your arms and lifts you gently to your feet before flushing the toilet. You stumble awkwardly to his lead as he escorts you to the sink.

He reaches around you to turn on the water, which is cold to the touch as he holds your hand beneath it. “Clean your mouth out,” he says, nudging his hand around yours until you form a cup. “It’s disgusting.” You oblige him, lifting it to your lips. You feel it drip down your chin as you swish it around between your teeth, looking up in the mirror to see your blushing cheeks and droopy eyes. Levi stands behind you, dressed in no more than a grey t-shirt and some comfortable-looking pants. His hair is neat and combed, which doesn’t quite match the rest of his attire, but you aren’t complaining. He looks as ethereal as always. After you spit, he grabs your shoulder and spins you around to face him.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing the tears that had formed on your face away with his thumbs. You shake your head at him, your eyes trailing down to the ground. Here comes the scolding.

He sweeps you off your feet, to your surprise, holding you bridal-style as he carries you out of the bathroom. You lay your head against his shoulder, seeing the walls of the room and the faces of your friends go blurrily by as he strides to the door; they all look terrified.

“Laps,” you hear Levi announce to your friends, his voice icy. “At dawn. I don’t give a shit if you’re hungover.”

A chorus of groans is the soundtrack for your exit as the door slams shut. The walk back to Levi’s suite is spotty at best; you’re unsure of exactly how long it’s taking. The scenery around you feels more dreamlike than anything — you find yourself hoping that you’re still propped against the wall with your friends, sleeping soundly and dreaming of Levi catching you red-handed. When time jumps and he’s laying you down on his couch, you’re pretty sure you’re awake.

You hear rustling around as you lay there, still half waiting for a scolding. He rejoins you rather quickly, setting some things down on the side table and gently lifting your head. He sits, letting you back down slowly to lay in his lap. “I brought you bread,” he says, taking it from the table and placing it in your hands. “It’ll soak up the alcohol. There’s water over here when you need it.” You inspect the bread lazily before nibbling on it. The very idea of chewing something and swallowing it is enough to make you nauseous, but you trust his judgement.

You feel his hand fall atop your forehead and his fingers draw circles in your hair. You don’t fight the grin threatening your lips. “Are you okay, my love?” he asks, his voice soft. This is the tenderness you had fallen in love with many months ago; the one thing your friends are blind to. He carries himself with such coldness for the public — he is rude, and blunt, and insufferable, and unobtainable. With you, however, he could be kind. He could be loving. The speed with which his gentle voice melts your heart never lessens. This is Levi at his most vulnerable.

“I’m just drunk,” you tell him, your words slurring into each other. “I’m not dying.”

You hear a chuckle barely pass over his lips like a spring breeze, the sparkle in his eyes reminiscent of the way the sun reflects off the surface of a pond. The peaceful nature of your position is a worthy opponent to how your insides wage war on one another: nausea, dizziness, and the beginnings of what will become an absolutely splitting headache all contained within one disoriented body. “I would’ve gone with you, you know,” he says suddenly after a serene moment of silence. “I would’ve known when you needed to stop drinking.” He combs his fingers against your cheek, silvery eyes softening into pools of undeniable adoration.

“You would’ve been a complete buzzkill,” you reply, half joking as you close your eyes and enjoy the rare affection.

You hear a cross between a scoff and a laugh come from above you. “Keeping those brats from getting you so wasted that you start puking isn’t being a buzzkill. It’s called taking care of you.”

“I think I’m not drunk enough,” you say honestly. “We ran out of wine right at that stage where you could go to sleep or start throwing up, but there’s absolutely no chance of having a good time.”

He taps the top of your head with two fingers, prompting you to let him up. You oblige him, using the opportunity to lay down your bread and take a sip from the glass of water that rests on the side table. You watch as he saunters back toward the kitchen, wondering what he was doing somewhat, but mostly just trying to get a grip on your senses. You sit up as you wait on his return, laying your head back against the plush upholstery and taking deep breaths.

He’s back as quickly as he left, both hands behind his back in a feeble attempt to hide the wine glasses as their stems poked around to your view. You feel a smile creep onto your face as he unveils his master plan: a bottle of red wine and a glass for each of you. “Don’t expect this often,” he announces as he sets it all on the table, pulling a wine key from his pocket. He joins you on the couch, scooting in close so that your knees brush before you hear the satisfying pop of the cork and the relaxing swish of liquid on glass.

“You’re expecting me to believe that Captain Levi is offering to get drunk with me?” you giggle, almost nervous to reach for the wine in front of you. He laughs off your comment, reaching in front of him and lifting the glass to his lips; he takes only a sip before looking at you in expectation. You take yours as well, holding it up to his jokingly before you both bring them to your mouths.

After your first gulp, time begins to melt away. A movie-esque montage begins in front of your eyes: the sight of the man you love, once so stoic and so stiff, loosening and laughing the night away at your side; the feeling of typically isolated and scarce hands trailing carelessly along the length of your arms, warm against the sensitive skin of your wrists and your thighs; the smell of red wine spilled innocently on hardwood and upholstery without complaints or uprooting to clean it; the sound of his velvet and brass voice with his uncensored expressions of love, whispered and melodic; the taste of mint and jasmine tea on his unusually wandering lips.

What might be thirty minutes or three hours passes in a flash, leaving you sprawled across the couch with the drunken mess that is your typically reserved lover, legs utterly entangled so that you were unsure where you ended and he began. He’s whispering to you — that much you know — but his words are slurred, and you’re unbelievably distracted by the feeling of wet kisses being peppered along your jaw and ear. He grasps at your back, massaging and caressing and leaving no inch uncovered by his calloused hands as his touch reminds you why you breathe and laugh and plainly exist.

“Levi,” you whisper, your mind a tangled ball of twine save for the feeling of his breath on your cheek.

He hums in response, not bothering to look up at you. You can feel his grin against your jaw.

“We should get to bed, love.”

You’d be left to wonder how the two of you made it into the next room when morning came; rest assured there would be a trail from the couch to the bedroom door made from clumsily knocked-over knick knacks and your discarded clothes from the day to clue you in. If you were sober, you’d care enough about Levi’s wrath tomorrow to clean up behind the two of you; however, you aren’t sober, and you don’t care enough.

The two of you fall into the bed you share, intertwining your limbs like the threads of a tapestry, laying out plainly and beautifully the comfort you find in him. Your head finds his chest and his hands find your lower back, pulling you flush against him as his eyelids begin their threats to close before he is quite ready. He murmurs out your name, his hold on you growing more snug when it passes his lips. “I love you, s—” he falters, nuzzling his face in the top of your head. “So much.”

It’s short — and a pretty common thing for someone to say to the person they love — but it means everything coming from him. “I love you, Levi,” you tell him, praying to whatever is up there that you’ll remember this in the morning.

Soon, the two of you stop stirring and whispering. As you breathe him in, you try to hear his words in your mind as many times as you can before you slip out of consciousness. You begin to drift off to sleep, peaceful and content in his arms as you’ve ever been.

[atinyidea]

Heartworm | Choi San

n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smouldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⟶ college!au, best friend!san, brother!seonghwa, friends to lovers!au, kinda very spicy but there’s no actual smut, there’s mentions of underage drinking and sexual encounters, everything is consentual!

⟶ appellation series masterlist

⟶ 5.7k words

600 special prompt for my lovely soul partner @san–shine, its like 50 years late and I know she no longer is active on this blog but I wanted to keep this.

42: “Exactly how drunk was I?”

49: “Good morning, sunshine.”

☞ When you were younger, you knew you were one-hundred per cent in love with your best friend, Choi San. However, because he was also, in fact, your brother’s best friend and you were a sixteen-year-old rebel adamant to never admit your feelings, you had to watch as he got his first girlfriend during a party Seonghwa had thrown for you. Now, years later and in the middle of college, you find yourself in a familiar setting: a party thrown for you by your brother and Choi San looking as breathtaking as he always does.

☞ moodboard

Just to be clear, when you woke up, you hadn’t expected your brother to announce that there was going to be a party held at your house for your twenty-second birthday. Your brother, being the kind and loving brother he was, had yet again used your birthday as an excuse to throw a house party, even though it wasn’t even your birthday until tomorrow. Seonghwa liked to use your birthday, the date falling in the last week of the summer holidays, as a way to gather all your combined friends as some sort of final summer get-together before the school year began again. You weren’t particularly against them, the end of summer parties becoming a little tradition after the fourth year running, and the fact that they were held at your house meant you could just go to bed any time you wanted. [ thank you sound-proofed home as per your mothers request due to your fathers’ noise-making habits from his job as a musician. ] Though it wasn’t like you knew anyone who would be throwing a house party you couldn’t just walk home from.

You did not know how many drinks you had consumed, alcoholic or otherwise, but the setting you found yourself in was giving you very explicit pangs of nostalgia to the first time you and your brother had thrown one of these parties. Your current situation was not unlike the situations you had been in before. You weren’t ashamed to say that you liked to have fun with your relationships: romantic, platonic or the just-once ones. It wasn’t unusual for you to be found in someone’s lap around midnight; the last party happened to be a beautiful girl named Soojin, the party before that was a guy whose name you hadn’t bothered to remember. However, the person’s lap who you sat in usually was not your best friend, Choi San’s. Not the San you spent the better half of your life burying romantic feelings for because he was Seongwha’s friend first. Not the San, your eyes couldn’t help watch whenever he was near. You made a promise to yourself since that one time when you had just turned sixteen, the one time you found yourself on his lap. [ A promise you made to deny your feelings because the very next day, he had gotten a girlfriend who was definitely not you. ]

At seventeen years old, San knew he was still a stupid and hormonal teenage boy. He practically got nose bleeds anytime he remotely saw a girl's lower back or tummy, their exposed thighs or neck: he knew he could be a perverted little shit. Still, having a girl for a best friend meant that he also knew what was respectful and what was just disgusting – thinking back on it, he was grateful for his friendship with you for teaching him from a young age how to treat girls with proper respect. [ Mainly because you would whack his head or punch him in the balls whenever he said something inappropriate or did something stupid. ] But, also at sixteen, San knew that he was also sorta-kinda-probably in love with his best friend’s sister. [ Who was also his best friend… was it possible to have more than one best friend? ]

During the summer of your sixteenth, Seonghwa’s eighteenth and his seventeenth birthdays, San and his family had gone overseas for an extended holiday. His father had received a promotion, and his mother struck lucky in her weekly lottery draw, so he hadn’t been there to witness the gradual changes to your body. It wasn’t like San wasn’t attracted to you before [ not that either of you knew what the fuck attraction was before ] but when you came to the airport to pick him up with your father, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to look at another girl ever again. [ Of course, that was an overdramatic thought since he proceeded to have girlfriends that weren’t you but the thought of you truly never left his mind. ]

The day of your sixteenth birthday party was something he would always remember clearly. He remembered the way you hugged him for a solid five minutes when he got to your house in the early morning, complaining about how your parents would still be away for another few days, and your brother refused to even hug you on your birthday. [ Seonghwa’s excuse was that it was your birthday tomorrow, and that was when you could claim the birthday hug. ] Secretly, he wished you would tell him you hugged him simply because you wanted to have him close. He remembered how Seonghwa had launched into a story from his last house party (one for the seniors that only he was invited to, but the stories were fun nevertheless) as he attempted to make pancakes at your request. You had bounced your way to your favourite countertop space and jumped up to sit there, right in front of the fridge, because it was the only place that was both cool and warm [ “exactly the right temperature” ] in the entire kitchen. He remembered the way his body slotted between your legs, his back to your chest as the two of you shared a vodka-and-coke at ten-in-the-morning. His mind was restlessly deciding if it was okay to lay his hands on your knees or calves, inevitably switching between the two places every five minutes. It hadn’t felt weird but natural as all three of you shared hearty laughs and then partially burnt pancakes.

[ He remembered when he had given you the small-and-terribly-wrapped box that held your present, egging you on to open it a day early. The way your face lit up as you lifted a thin silver chained sunflower charm bracelet into the air would forever be imprinted on his eyes – your eyes sparkling and lips twitching up into a wide grin as you thanked him seven times. The gentle tone of your voice as you asked him to help you put it on because for some reason, you couldn’t put clasped bracelets on for the life of you, was saved like a voice note in his brain. “You remembered,” you had whispered once he was settled back between your legs, “that sunflowers were my favourite, I mean.” The brush of your lips on his cheek lined the walls of his heart as it threatened to shatter through his ribs. ]

As a sixteen-year-old San knew that you probably shouldn’t’ve had as much alcohol as you had that night. However, as a seventeen-year-old San also didn’t care as long as you were having fun. It was not the first time you consumed alcohol, but it was the first time you’d had enough to get drunk from it. It was your sixteenth birthday party after all, and neither your brother nor your best friend had any objections when you grabbed the first vodka-and-coke at ten in the morning while you got ready. So now, at almost eleven at night, you had had more than ten of those drinks, and you could honestly say you weren’t sure if you’d remember anything from this night at all. The hours went by in a blur, and soon three drinks had turned into eight as you dragged San to your room to decide on an outfit for the night. He remembered the way his throat constricted as you strolled out from your bathroom in a neon green crop top and the pair of flare jeans you always wore. Ultimately San thought he would’ve preferred that outfit to the one you settled on – a black denim mini-skirt with a matching jacket on top of a simple t-shirt with a neon rainbow painted across the chest. The sliver of skin showing from the crop top was way less tempting than the muscle of your thighs, mainly since that was your exact plan for the outfit.

“You look good,” he had said, swallowing gulps of air and saliva when you asked, “you’d still look good in a potato sack,” he complimented you as you twirled on the spot and gifted him with a brilliant grin that simply took his breath away.

“We match!” You all but squealed when you took note of the black denim jacket San wore over his t-shirt with a neon rainbow across the chest.

He hadn’t even noticed.

His memory started to get hazy around drink number thirteen. He couldn’t remember how or what events had led to the current situation, [ or which room the two of you were actually in that was both not your bedroom and also not inhabited by literally anyone else ], but he certainly was not complaining. You were so close to him he could smell the faintest scent of your vanilla and cinnamon shampoo and conditioner you had used the day before, the slightest whiff of your jasmine scented perfume [ the one you always wore, the one he bought you your first bottle of ] and the sweetly bitter smell of cherry coke and vodka on your breath. His hands seemed glued to your lower back and hips, palms almost moulded to your skin like he were a sculptor, and you were his latest masterpiece. Your legs either side of his own, wrapping around him possessively, like he was yours and only yours, and he let you, using his hands to pull you closer to him like you were his and only his. Your faces were so close he could feel each hot exhale of breath hitting his lips, and when they stopped as you shivered and whined, he couldn’t help the way his lips tilted upwards into a smirk. The way you attempted to wire your mouth shut not to make a sound wasn’t effective, seeing as he heard all three of your whines, each one getting more prolonged and higher in pitch as the two of you continued your ministrations. His hips wanted to jut up into you. Still, he forced his movements to be as slow and smooth as possible, wanting to feel every way you would come undone above him, but when his gaze flickered across your face. He spotted the small trickle of blood falling from your lips; it was like everything that had just happened had disappeared.

From your recollection, you only remembered specific parts of that night. Your legs had been situated on either side of his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck as his palms slowly pushed up the small of your back to pull your body closer to his. Your faces were so close you could physically see the connection between the two of you, yet neither of you pushed forward enough to make that connection real and tangible. [ You wanted to, God, you wanted to kiss him right then more than anything. Why didn’t you kiss him then? ] San’s hands felt hot against your skin, his fingertips slowly moving to draw a masterpiece on your back. You shivered slightly as a slight breeze floated around the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your eyes were drawn to San’s lips as they twitched up into a slight smirk; his own eyes flickered to watch you watch him. Neither of you had said a word to each other for almost half an hour, drunkenly pushing at the limits between your friendship with nothing but burning touches and delicate twists of hips.

You subconsciously sucked your bottom lip into the confines of your teeth, but you willingly bit down harshly to stop a sly whine from escaping your lips as San had the cocky idea to roll his pelvis into yours as he held you in place with his hands on your hips. Apparently, you had bitten down way too hard because the next thing you knew was that San’s playful smirk had evaporated into a concerned frown. He lifted a hand from your hip – the sudden rush of cold where his hand previously was leaving you feeling a sense of loss – to your lip, his thumb tugging your lip back out.

“You’re bleeding,” he mumbled, thumb coming away with a smear of blood moulding into his fingerprint. The taste of blood in your mouth was unexpected and had sent you reeling. You almost flew off of his lap and practically ran to your bedroom’s bathroom to inspect the damage. There was a tear in the side of your bottom lip. [ The side of your lip you always bit out of habit, so the skin was thinner there than the rest of your lip. ] Against your better judgment – the rational part of your brain was too drunk at that moment – you settled your tongue against the fresh cut. Finching away from yourself at the unexpected [ which really should’ve been expected ] pain, you decided that there was nothing you could do to help soothe it. After twenty minutes, that felt like two, of staring at yourself in the mirror, you finally shrugged and made your way back into the heart of the party.

As an almost sixteen-year-old, you knew you were just coming into figuring out your body and the emotions of more physical relationships as you grew into it. You knew you had grown up a little (a lot) over the summer, your chest filling out from a b-cup to a c-cup, your lanky figure could no longer be considered lanky as your limbs gained muscle, fat and tone, creating a new full and curvy figure. Your mother had been ecstatic when you came to her asking how to style clothes to fit your ‘new’ figure as it meant the two of you could go shopping [ one of her favourite activities ], and you could find your style that both suited your body and personality. You did have to admit that your style didn’t change much; you still loved a sturdy flannel shirt [ always oversized though, now you tended to wear it open with a form-fitting crop top or spaghetti-strap top underneath to show off your chest and waist ] and you still loved your favourite pair of flare jeans enough to wear them almost every other day, [ the one with the painted sunflower over the back pocket. ] You also loved pleated mini skirts and knee-high socks or a simple loose-form-fitting dress with lycra cycle shorts underneath. You didn’t like the emotional side of your summer changes, though and, while you were new to the whole attraction thing, the one person you definitely didn’t feel anything remotely romantic for was your best friend. [ Well, maybe you did, but he was Seonghwa’s friend first, and that was a no-go… and perhaps you wanted to reject the way your heart turned into butterflies when you saw him at the airport… and maybe you just weren’t ready to put those feelings into words, so you denied them instead. ]

Your best friend whose lap you were just sat on, grinding your hips into his with your noses touching. Your best friend who was now kissing another girl [a beautiful girl who was named Hyemi, she was in Seonghwa’s class and also happened to live across the road… she was always nice to you and you couldn’t find it in you to dislike her even as your stomach knotted and twisted into something green with envy ] in the middle of the kitchen. You wouldn’t remember how long you stood there, watching the two of them kiss like a complete and utter creep, and you wouldn’t remember the look San gave you as he noticed the sway of your hair as you retreated out of the kitchen with a frown on your brow.

You did not fancy your best friend, and you definitely did not care that he was kissing Hyemi in front of the fridge. [ The fridge he stood between your legs in front of literal hours ago. ] Lastly, you definitely did not feel like crying as your mind reminded you about two different memories of earlier that day – one of you sat on the counter opposite that exact fridge with San leaning back into you as he gave you the sunflower charm bracelet that wrapped around your wrist, watching Seonghwa attempt to make you birthday pancakes. The second the memory of his hands burning up your skin, the way his lips tilted into a smirk when you shivered under his hold and the way you inflicted pain to yourself in an attempt not to whine with pleasure at the way he moved his hips.

It was too raw, and now you just wanted to forget.

San’s brain refused to calculate time because one minute his hand was reaching for your bloodied lip and the next you were gone, and San was back in the kitchen getting you a glass of water [ and then he was kissing another girl in front of the fridge he rested between your legs literal hours ago. ] San wouldn’t remember what their conversation had been, only that this girl, Hyemi, was older than him and had just asked him out. He wouldn’t remember the exact way her grin turned a little too malicious to be sincere. He would, however, remember the way your hair flew over your shoulder as you spun away from the scene involving him; he would remember the way his eyes followed your figure all the way into the embrace of your brother as you shallowly smiled and stole his drink [ and he would remember the way his chest seemed to ache at that simple action. ]

Hyemi became his girlfriend at that same party; you didn’t even know they knew each other. He didn’t even know why he said yes.

And here you were, on the penultimate night before your twenty-second birthday, in the lap of your best friend. His relationship with Hyemi had lasted six months, and he had gotten six more significant others in the seven-year gap from then til now but, right then, he was single, and you were in his lap. You had flopped down over the side of a two-seater couch; eyes screwed shut with laughter, so you didn’t realise who was sat on said couch – or that anyone was – until your head made contact with their thigh. [ Their thigh was very comfy to lay on, which was the first thing your brain commented on. ] When you looked up and met eyes with San, a small [ tiny really, in no way visible to the person who knew you best and where to look for a blush – finding it immediately ] blush was growing warmly over your cheeks.

“Hey there,” He grinned, setting down his plastic cup, [ more like throwing it over his shoulder, not caring that it hit someone since it was mostly empty anyway ] and poking your nose gently just to watch the way it would scrunch up. His fingers were moving from your nose to his ear to make sure the roll-up cigarette that was balanced there hadn’t fallen.

“Hi,” you giggled, your legs curling up to your chest, making you look like a contorted cat as your feet still dangled slightly over the arm of the chair. After a few seconds, your fingers started twitching and settled on playing with the fabric of his shirt. It was the same rainbow one he wore to your sixteenth party, matching the one you were wearing too. The both of you had grown out of them, San settling on cutting it into a crop top and you doing the same, [ since you were the one who had actually cut San’s shirt and decided to continue and do yours, so you matched again. ] His shirt gave little to cover, showing off his abdominals and tummy [ and the slight happy trail peeking out from the waistband of his jeans ] proudly and only just covering his pectorals. Your own shirt was cut higher, stopping just above the curve of your breasts. Still, your own torso was covered in a neon green fishnet bodysuit [ not that it left anything to the imagination, your torso was still on show ] that was tucked into your signature flare pants which now rode a little low on your hips and the sunflower on the back was more than a little faded.

“What are you doing?” He asked with an amused grin, [ complemented with the subtle raise of a singular eyebrow… Gods, why was he so attractive? ] one hands fingers starting to twist in the loose strands of your short hairstyle. It was nice. [ The touch of his hands against your hair was excellent, the slight tug of the strands against your skull felt really nice. ]

“Taking a break. Siyeon, Minji and Yunho broke out the karaoke machine, and they're playing the song shots game.” You replied as if it explained everything. [ It actually kind of did, San recalled you once telling him that the chaotic energy of that particular trio and the song shots game gave you awful headaches. And you hated having headaches when you were drinking because it made you nauseous. And when you were nauseous and drunk, you tended to go have a smoke, which you were trying extremely hard to stop doing for the sake of your father, who also used to smoke and now had lung problems. So, San understood your meaning. ] “What about you?”

San had to take a minute to think. Just what was he doing? Why was he so out of it today? In his heart, San knew the answer, but he hadn’t unlocked that treasure chest just yet. [ He was tired of watching you be semi-intimate with people that weren’t him… Which he refused to admit. Because both of you were pinning assholes in denial. ] Finally, even though it had only been a minute, he replied with a simple “I’m just… sitting.”

“Oh?” You asked, now it was your turn to raise the amused eyebrow, “just sitting?”

“Sitting... and thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.” The word was out faster than San’s brain had time to process what he’d said. However, now he had said it, he wasn’t going to deny it. Was it the small amount of alcohol in his system? [ It was the way your eyes widened a little as you looked up at him from your place in his lap, fingers twisting in his shirt and lips falling open ever so slightly. ]

“Me?” Your pitch ascended as the volume of your voice diminished.

“Yeah, you!” He grinned, tone equally as quiet but still showing enthusiasm, moving his free hand to boop your nose.

“What about me?”

San’s fingers in your hair froze at your question, his mind whirring with any kind of answer that wouldn’t cross the line into confession territory wherein he would lose your friendship indefinitely, but after one look at the serious longing look in your eye, he decided he would ‘man up’ [ the phrase making him cringe as soon as he thought it… the connotation of the word being so outdated and, for someone who grew up with a very stubborn girl in his life, San wondered why society hadn’t come up with a suitable alternative to the phrase ] and just tell you.

So he did.

“Do you remember what happened between us at your sixteenth party?” He asked, seemingly changing the conversation topic. Confused but going with it, a slight blush warming your cheeks, you nodded, and he took that as permission to continue, “I can’t stop thinking about it.” His voice was nothing louder than a whisper, you should’ve had to strain your ears to hear him, but at that moment, it was like all other sounds and distractions faded from the scene. Your breath hitched as you simply stared up into his eyes, his pupils dilated, almost taking over the beautiful swirling colour of his irises [ making his eyes look darker than usual, more intense than expected, and for a second, you swore your heart stopped ].

“What about it?” Your question was innocent enough, but the way you said it gave way to other ideas. Your voice was soft and breathy, like you weren’t getting enough oxygen, and like San, the words weren’t said above a whisper. Afterwards, you bit down softly on your bottom lip [ unintentional on your part, it was just a habit of yours, to be honest ], minutely sucking it in, and San’s focus shifted to watch your lips specifically.

“I’m thinking about how much I’d like to do it again.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Please kiss me.” You whispered, more a statement rather than a question or demand. And so he did, leaning forward to reach you, head still in his lap, [ it felt like a slow-motion scene in a movie, but it couldn’t have been longer than two seconds before his lips were flush against yours ]. It was not the first time the two of you had kissed, but it was the first time you had kissed since becoming official adults — it felt different.

It felt good.

His lips were soft, and his kiss was gentle, at least it was at first. As the seconds ticked on, the kiss grew more intense, the soft brush of his lips pressed harder into you, his hands running over your body to pull you up to him. Your arms threaded around his neck, stretching out your torso [ if you were honest, it hurt a little… not that you were lucid enough to be aware of it ] and arching your back. He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging at it a little when your fingers twisted through the hair at his neck, pulling him to you with a new sense of desperation.

And then the two of you fell off the couch. You slid off his lap and landed on your back [ though it was more like you were on your side than your back ] while San rolled over on top of you. Both of you froze in your positions, eyes wide, [ pupils dilated but that was most likely due to the desire flowing through you ] lips parted as you just stared at one another for a second. San was the first to crack the silence, lips pulling into a grin and eyes crinkling with joy as his laugh sounded out around you. He flipped off from on top of you, landing next to you on the floor but his smile never dimmed and his laugh hadn’t faded. You rolled slightly so you were actually on your side as you continued to look at him. When he looked back at you your heart skipped a beat, his smile was so pretty and it made his dimple so deep but it wasn’t long before his laughter simmered and his expression faded as he looked back at you.

Biting your lip once again you made an executive decision [ the only decision you could think off, since all thoughts were now preoccupied with San at the moment ] to lift yourself to hover over him this time. You swallowed and let out a breath as your eyes met, searching for any sign that you should stop. Your shaking breath cut out into a soft gasp as San’s hands caressed over the small of your back to pull you down so that your chests touched. Your right hand lifted up to take hold of the cigarette tucked behind his ear, [ a small giggle leaving your lips at the thought that it was still there even after all that ] and twisted it between your fingers a little. Was it a nervous habit or just a neat trick, you couldn’t distinguish at the moment. San’s own hand came to hold yours, two sets of fingers now playing with the home-made roll-up gently. Soon enough San took it from your shallow grip and flicked it across the room, using the same hand to cup your jaw to cirect your gaze back to him.

Meeting his eyes made you want to shy away from his gaze but you let him keep you there. He looked at you with such a strong emotion you though you’d possibly be able to taste it from his lips. “I have to tell you something…” You whispered, close enough to not have to raise your voice.

“What is it?” He whispered back, the fingers on your back drawing small circles as the hand at you jaw left to curl a strand of hair around his fingers in the opposite direction. [ how he did that subconsciously and not mess it up would’ve made your head spin in wonder ].

“I love you.” You began, still whispering. “I have for a long time, though in the beginning I tried rather hard to deny it. Mainly because you had a significant other and I didn’t want to ruin that for you. And then, in a rather dick move, I got a significant other in the hopes of stopping it but that didn’t work so I stopped getting into romantic relationships altogether and now-”

He cut you off, pulling you into him to kiss the words from your lips [ which you appreciated because your inner thoughts were beginning to panic because your mouth wouldn’t stop talking ]. When you separated his smile was back, albeit not as wide as before. His eyes were as soft as his smile as he kissed you once more, resting your foreheads together. “I love you too,” he said against your lips. At his words you surged forward, pressing into him with fierce emotion as your kissed him.

You had wanted to hear those words from his lips for so long. You had wanted him for so long. And here he was, right in your reach, his hands on your body and yours tugging gently at his hair. Before all the breath in your lungs had finished and you lost your conscious nerve to a blur of desire those word had repeated at least thrice as you made your way to the comfort of your bed and the warmth of his body.

The next day when you woke up, you woke up earlier than usual and feeling unusually chipper as you took a hot shower. The subtly sweet scent of pancakes met you as you made your way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Sunshine, you’re up early,” your brother grinned over his shoulder, both hands currently busy holding a pan and spatula. “I made pancakes.”

“Yes, I can see that.” You returned his grin with one of your own, a teasing smile lifting to your lips as you took a seat. Your head was clear of any headaches or lingering pain from a hangover since you were better with your alcohol intake as a twenty-two-year-old, and your reckless youth had lined your stomach with a fair amount of tolerance.

“Exactly how drunk was I last night? I don’t remember anyone leaving.”

“Oh boy,” Seonghwa sniggered, a sly grin taking over his features, “the party was two days ago, you slept all day yesterday. Really freaked San out.”

“What?!” You exclaimed, a piece of pancake falling from your fingers back onto your plate, bouncing off and onto the side sadly. [ It went ignored as you stared down your brother. ]

“Yeah. And he’s been ramble-muttering about you for a solid ten hours now. He’s really not subtle at all.” Seonghwa grinned. “So now that you two have slept together, are you two actually together?”

If you had liquid in your mouth, you would have spat it out. “He told you?!” You exclaimed, heart racing at the thought of your best friend and your brother discussing your sex-life.

“No.” Seonghwa denied immediately, face scrunching up in disgust at the mere thought, “I definitely don’t need to know details about that. It’s just San isn’t subtle at all when he’s mutter-rambling. He was oblivious to the fact he was thinking out loud about how to move forward after your… time together… while I literally sat next to him.” Seonghwa then grinned at you, again, the stretch of his lips becoming a little too mischievous for your liking. “Pretty sure he passed out on the couch half an hour ago.” He hinted, motioning over to the living room with his head as his eyebrows wiggled up and down suggestively.

A puff of air exhaled through your nose as a small smile climbed over your lips. You opened your mouth to talk, but he cut you off with a gentle pat on the head, “I’m happy for you two,” was all he said but it was enough. [ Your heart soared at the approval of your brother. It was not that you nor San needed Seonghwa’s approval, but it was nice to know he wouldn’t oppose it. ] Then you made your way to the couch San was asleep on.

You sat next to him, in the space unoccupied by his body. His brow was furrowed, which you frowned at. You lifted a hand and gently pressed on the juncture between his eyebrows, smoothing them out. His face instantly relaxed under your touch [ a part of your mind daydreamed that it was because he knew it was you ] and a small smith lifted upon your lips. Your hand moved down to cup his cheek and then his jaw before you raised it to gently wipe away the hair that had fallen in his face. You bit down on your lip, confused on whether to wake him up or not but life had chosen for you as one by one San’s eyes opened and slowly focused on you.

His eyes widened, and in a flurry of limbs suddenly he was laying on his back on the floor while you had balanced yourself with your knees over his waist. After a second of shocked silence [ as the two of you came to terms with what the fuck just happened ] a grin spread across his lips, eyes crinkling in delight, as his hands came to grip your hips gently.

A silent confirmation washed over the two of you as your lips spread to mirror his grin. The two of you would be alright as the next part of your relationship bloomed, the embers of your crushes were now burning bright.

[6sakusa]

‘broken’ miya atsumu.

a/n : lol i almost cried writing this so enjoy.

warnings : angst, physical violence (slap), mentions of cheating, mild swearing, me not proof reading.

“y/n, i love you and i want to spend the rest of my life by your side, so will you marry me?” you watched your boyfriend of four years get on one knee. he had told you earlier on to dress up nicely as it was a ‘special’ occasion. you assumed the only reason was the fact that the two of you were going to one of the best resturants in the city which would no doubt produce a bank breaking bill. but you were wrong, the occasion was special and you could easily name it as one of the best moments of your life.

it was hard to imagine that anything would be able to overshadow this, the feeling of bliss in your heart as he said those words to you, the sparkle in your eyes as you watched him pull at the ring which he clearly spent a fortune on, the round of applause ringing in the background from the on-lookers who were also dining. perhaps the only thing that would be better than this would be the birth of your first child, or all your children in fact.

you’d always imagined a life with miya atsumu the moment he asked you to be his girlfriend, you knew that he was more of the apartment type, specifically penthouses since his professional volleyball career allowed him a generous pay. you on the other hand had always been a house type, you longed for something big enough to nurture a family in, the two of you had been bickering about this for years since high school since the both of you were so sure that you would end up being his wife.

“yes, yes, yes oh my god of course i’ll marry you.” you squealed in excitement leaping into his arms with the biggest smile you had ever flaunted in your entire life. and those were the words he wanted to hear more than anything because he too had imagined a perfect life with you.. if only he could abide by it.

you rested in his arms, only pulling away to run your fingers over the pricey ring he had bought you. and of course he knew you’d love it when you had it saved to one of your pinterest boards for years.

“congratulations.” an array of customers proclaimed giving in to the celebratory atmosphere. truly, this was everything you could have asked for in life, you had a wonderful fiance, a beautiful place to live, you were thriving in your career and your social life was buzzing, curtesy of many of atsumu’s friends.

“do you like it?” he asked taking your hand to admire how beautiful you looked under the lighting positioned directly under your table. in addition, the stunning dress you had picked for the night was making you anything but resistible. how badly he wanted to tear the fabric off you and pound into you until sunrise was something he was struggling to hide.

“it’s beautiful.” you were mesmerised by the sight of it and your fiancé’s thoughtfulness, there was a love erupting in you that you weren’t even aware it was possible to feel for another person.

“let’s go home and.. celebrate.” he smirked with a smug expression on his face leading you towards the car. you knew exactly what he was thinking and how needy he was getting but tonight especially you would allow him to indulge in his lewd thoughts.

he held the car door open for you, he noted how much you loved this model, in fact it was your favourite one. it was one of the many things he noted about you as he planned to buy all the things you liked. maybe then you would forgive him, right? he hoped so.

he tapped against the steering wheel as the two of you drove down the night streets of tokyo, you assumed it was out of impatience because you were too distracted by your own thoughts to be as observant as usual with your boyfriends emotional state.

“y/n.. i need to tell you something.” he looked out of the window avoiding making eye contact with you as his drumming got louder. you turned to face him, readying yourself for him to make one of his usual silly jokes, or maybe one of his lewd speeches that would often come out when he got particularly riled up by you.

“what is it?” you asked with a light chuckle, the atmosphere of just a few minutes ago still buzzing within you.

“i- there’s no right way to say this but .. a couple months ago i slept with another woman and — i can’t bear the thought of you marrying me without knowing.” his words spilled out, there was barely a space between them and to any one else it would have been completely incoherent.

“what are you talking about ‘tsumu? that’s not funny.” you rolled your eyes with a smile leaning back into the passenger seat feeling the way the car moved on the smooth roads beneath you. there was a brief pause before atsumu decided to speak again, and between those seconds you thought absolutely nothing of his words. how you wish he would have just laughed along and stayed quiet, why? why did he have to tell you?

“i’m being serious.” he clenched his jaw causing you to whip your head in his direction, his eyes were still ahead on the road but he could feel your glare boaring into his skull. he couldn’t bare to face you, no — he didn’t deserve to face you.

“what?” your expression faltered, a new atmosphere dawned between the both of you. one that was a lot thicker — almost suffocating and heavily juxtaposed the one from the resturant. there was a million thoughts going through your mind right now, how was this possible? how did you not notice? how long had this been going on? why was he just telling you now? it was almost impossible to process it all at once with the feeling of your heart pounding out of your chest and your stomach getting ready to reject the food that you had eaten just minutes ago.

“i’m sorry i just, i got carried away that day you know? it was only a one time thing but i—“ his voice was cut off by a harsh slap to his cheek. you watched as the surface of his face turned red, he didn’t bother reprimanding you for getting physical, if he was being honest he expected it from you, actually he expected more. it was almost scary the way you weren’t shouting and screaming at him, the way you weren’t kicking and clawing away at him, it made him feel all the much worse.

you sighed to yourself, your breath was shaky as your heart was shattering in your chest and you hadn’t even noticed that you were crying. maybe it was because you were too occupied realising the way your life had all come crashing down in a matter of moments. your fiancé had cheated on you.. what does that mean for your relationship? would you even call him your fiancé anymore? and what about your home with him? not to mention the friendships you had with an array of his friends. what did this all mean?

“why?” your voice was below a whisper, you could barely muster up the voice to speak, there was a sickening feeling in your chest that you were way too focused on instead of your words.

“it wasn’t you.. it’s never been you, you’re perfect you’re everything i’ve ever wanted, i don’t know why, i’m just an idiot i was so stupid and i’ve regretted it everyday since... but i’m gonna fix it i promise i’ll fix it.” his voice was shaky and uneven, you could tell without looking at him that he was on the verge of tears. but that was nothing compared to what you were feeling. the fact that you had laid next to him for months without knowing that he had bedded another woman. did he touch her the way he did you? did he prefer her to you? was she prettier than you?

“how? how are you going to fix it?” you turned to him, tears staining your mascara and eyeliner, there was no doubt know that you looked like a mess. what you didn’t know is that atsumu still thought you were the prettiest girl in the world but you were too occupied being hit by the crushing realisation that the best moment of your life had just turned into the worst. love had so easily turned to hate and all your time together meant absolutely nothing to you anymore.

“well we’re going to get married right? and you’ve always liked this car right babe? i’ll buy you one. and there’s that house you always wanted, i can put a down payment on it today—“

“no.” you buried your head into your hands at the thought of your next words. four years? what did four years of your life mean now? what did you have left? “we’re not getting married.”

“wha— but you already said yes, come on don’t be like that, don’t you remember it was just a few minutes ago, you were so happy.” he spewed out words frantically, desperate to say something, anything, that would make you stay. he was prepared to sell his soul if it meant keeping you by his side, the only woman he had ever loved, the only one he had ever imagined a future with, the only one he wanted to start a family with, you were his everything.

“that was before you told me that you cheated on me and here you are throwing all these material things at me, a car? really miya? four years together and you’re here treating me like some gold-digging whore after breaking my heart? that’s why you proposed to me isn’t it? you think this ring will make me stay.” you were crying uncontrollably now and nothing atsumu could say to you or offer you would ever make you feel better.

“miya? y/n please i don’t know what else to do i’m trying to be honest with you—“

“pull over.” you interrupted him once again and he had no choice but to oblige. he knew that right now he was in no position to deny your wishes. but this was all temporary.. because you would come around right?

“i don’t understand why you would do this to me.” you bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, your head was spinning and it felt like your throat was closing up. you needed to leave, because miya atsumu was now too suffocating for you to be around.

“i know, i know i’m sorry, please y/n i’m so sorry — look i’m getting the house now i still want a future with you.” he tugged on your arm begging you to look at his phone where he was already entering his account details for the place you had been fawning over.

“don’t fucking touch me.” you swatted his hand away. you didn’t want him to be anywhere near you knowing how close he had been with another.

“i’ll give you space if you need it, i’ll give you whatever you want just please — don’t leave me, please don’t.” his hands were shaking now as he tried entering various different numbers into his phone, he didn’t care if he had to buy the entire house now, he’d pay for the whole thing this second if it meant he could walk you down the aisle in a couple months time.

“i don’t need anything from you.. i don’t want this anymore, forget about that house, forget about a family together, forget about marrying me.”

“no no no y/n you’re just angry right now but please don’t say things like that you don’t know how it makes me feel.” he turned to face you and his heart clenched at the tears running down your face. your makeup was smudged and you had pushed yourself to the very edge of the car just to make sure you were as far away from him as possible.

“and what about how i feel huh? did you think about that when you were fucking some other girl wherever the two of you were? you have no idea how i feel, you have no idea..” you brought your hands to your face, concealing your weak figure from his eyes.

“i don’t want this.” you removed the ring from your finger, the same one you had saved to your pinterest board for years, the same one you had imagined atsumu using to propose to you countless times, the same one that had featured in both the best and worst moment of your life.

“y/n please..” his words were stuck in his throat now, he was finally realising that there was nothing he could say — nothing he could do to make you stay. you wouldn’t come around, you respected yourself too highly for that, he would never be able to call you his again. what did his life mean?

“i hate you miya atsumu.” you pushed the door open walking out of his car despite how much he begged you to stay. you didn’t care how he chased you down the road, you didn’t care what he said to you, you didn’t think you would ever care again.. you didn’t have it in you.

and the curse placed upon atsumu? he would never be able to find love again, because he betrayed the only person to stay by his side with unconditional love for years .. there was no one on the planet who loved him the way you did.

[luminouspoes]

safe in the morning light

pairing: poe x gen!reader

summary: reader wakes up first in the morning and decides to wake poe up nicely

word count: 2k+

warning: n/a just soft kisses and fluff

You wake up first, which is unusual. Typically, Poe is the first one up: he’s a light sleeper, quick to alertness from years of being a pilot. Typically, by the time the D’Qar sun is fully up in the sky, Poe has already finished most of his morning routine of having caf, checking the messages on the console across from his bed, and reviewing logs from the various squadrons under his command.

Instead, you’re delighted to find he’s still in bed next to you. It’s still early, so you decide to take the time to appreciate the quiet peace in your home. You shift closer to Poe, smoothing the duvet down as it twists around you at your movement. It strikes you how peaceful he looks: the tension in his face is smoothed out for once, and your eyes roam over his handsome face, trying to commit to memory what he looks like now. 

The war is still a phantom on the horizon, haunting everyone on the base. There’s no doubt in anyone’s minds that war will eventually, finally break out, but it’s only a matter of predicting when. It’s Poe’s defiance and kindness that led you to falling in love with him, but his urgent need to protect what his parents fought for, to stop the First Order from hurting anyone else the way it’s already hurt him, weighs him down in a way few seem to notice.

He hides it too well, for someone who can’t lie to save his life. Besides yourself, General Organa seems to be the only one to realize how much he pretends things are easy for him. He’s the one who offers encouragement and help to people, and you adore him for it. You just wish he’d realize that he deserves to have that, too.

You place your hand over his chest. There’s dozens of scars littered across it, each with their own story. By now, you’re familiar with each story, each scar, and you’ve loved them gently with both your fingertips and lips more times than you can count. 

As much as you’d love to let him sleep in, to keep that relaxed expression on his face, you also know it’s only a matter of time before a message beeps on the console that will wake him, or someone will turn up at your door needing something, and you’d rather he wake up to something sweet than a rude interruption. 

You lean forward, pausing for a fraction of a second to appreciate how his eyelashes brush the tips of his cheekbones with his eyes closed. You press a kiss to his forehead (usually, when you did this, it would be to smooth out the worry lines there), then move to press one to the tip of his nose. You continue to map out the planes of his face, from his cheek bones, to the side of his temple, the corner of his mouth.

Although he keeps his eyes close, you feel him stir slightly underneath you. He’s pretending to be asleep, so with a grin, you decide to up the ante so to speak. You throw a leg over his hip so straddle him before closing the distance again, smiling against his skin as you kiss along his jawline. You can feel his hand twitching at his side, wanting to hold you, but he seems determined to make this last as long as he can.

He can try to keep up the ruse for as long as he wants, but there’s no denying the slight flush to his cheeks, and the fast thrum of his heart underneath your palm. You slide your lips down from his jawline, down to the crook of his neck and - 

Get exactly the reaction you were seeking.

Poe yelps, his eyes flying open as he squirms away from your mouth, shoulders tucking up around his chin as a burst of laughter falls from your lips. He glares up at you without any venom, “That’s playing dirty.” 

“Is it?” You ask, a mischievous glint lighting up your eyes. 

Poe’s eyes widen slightly in alarm as you move back in, a firm “no, wait -” falling from his lips and quickly turning into another round of bright, brilliant laughter as you ghost your nose along the side of his neck, featherlight. He writhes beneath you, trying to move away, as his laughter continues to rumble through his chest against your own. 

He was terribly ticklish around his neck, something you’d been delighted to discover early on into your relationship (you’d been tucked away in a supply closet, trying to catch a moment to yourselves to catch up on your day, when you’d leaned in to kiss down his neck, and promptly found out how sensitive he was there). You twist your head to look at him as you continue to nuzzle your nose against him, drawing light circles to keep him laughing. Your heart seizes with something indefinable as his face scrunches up with mirth, eyes crinkling softly with joy. 

He continues to wriggle underneath you and it’s not long before you’re both wrestling around, legs tangling together as he continues to try and evade your attacks. But you can’t help but chase after him, enjoying the way your quarters fill with the sound of his hearty laugh as you roll around the mattress. 

Distracted as you are by how happy he looks, Poe takes your momentary slip up and uses it to his advantage, grabbing your wrists in one hand and effortlessly flipping you under him with one smooth movement. You bounce slightly against the mattress as he comes to hover over you, balancing on one arm. Your breath stalls in your chest from how easily he pinned you underneath him - it’s easy to forget how strong he actually is - and the way his eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you. 

Poe leans down, his nose nuzzling against yours for a second, before he tilts his head for better access to your mouth. You close your eyes, heart racing in anticipation - 

And then he ghosts his fingertips over the rolls on your waist, wiggling his fingers like spider legs, and you nearly fly off the mattress, his name falling from your lips in an affronted squeal, and you’re quickly losing your breath for a very different reason than the moment before, as he continues to tickle your side, eager to draw out as much laughter from you as you had him. He’s practically glowing as he tells you with a self-satisfied smile, “Two can play at this game, sweetheart.”

As you continue to squirm and giggle beneath him, the automatic light sconces in his room slowly activate, leaving the room in a golden glow that’s indicative of the sunrise happening outside. It only makes this moment seem even more like a slice of heaven, your shared delight spanning simultaneously an eternity and only a few minutes. 

Finally, Poe concedes, opting instead to splay his hand on your waist, fingers tucking around the fabric of your shirt (one of his shirts, actually) so you can catch your breath. His and your chests rise and fall rapidly with pants, but neither of you have lost your somewhat manic grins.

“Morning flyboy.” You run your hand down his chest again, ghosting along the scars there. Poe’s eyes slip shut at your gentle touch: it never fails to make his chest tight with emotion, the way you always touch and hold him like he’s something precious. He isn’t sure what he’s done in his life to deserve someone as incredible and loving as you, but he’s glad he has you.

When he’s able to open his eyes again, he pokes your chest lightly, teasingly with his index finger, “Was tickling me really necessary?”

You roll your lips as you mull over his question, shifting beneath him slightly. Judging from the expression on his face, he’s expecting you to make a joke, but your mind is still too groggy from sleep to come up with one, so you opt for the truth instead. “To hear that beautiful laugh? Absolutely.”

He leans back slightly, his gaze softening from your words. Then he grins, a brilliant lopsided one that makes your heart glow, and he’s shifting your body closer to his so your legs tangle together again.  “Could say the same about yours,” he tells you as you slide your hand back up his chest to snake around the back of his neck. Your palm brushes against the cold chain of his necklace as you move your hand into his curls, scraping lightly at his scalp with your fingernails. 

Poe’s gaze grows heated as he searches your face. In a rough voice that has nothing to do with the fact that he just woke up and everything to do with how you’re holding him, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You respond by burrowing your fingers further into his curls to pull his face down to your own, his mouth crashing against yours. His hand skims down to your hip, drawing you up so your bodies are flush together. The warmth of his bare chest seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt, as his other hand moves from propping him up to ghost down the side of your head, coming to a rest at your neck, his fingers spreading out so that they brush against the edges of your jawline as he pulls your top lip into his mouth, drawing out a low hum from the back of your throat. 

While you tug at his curls with one hand, you let the other wander down the expanse of his back. His muscles move beneath your palm as he pushes against you, but you’re delighted to find that his body is relaxed under your touch, and holds none of the tension you’ve unfortunately come to be so familiar with. Your hand ends its journey at the small of his back, as he deepens the kiss and cradles your jaw reverently. 

“You know,” Poe muses against your lips, rubbing his nose against yours, “I’ve forgotten something very important.”

Still caught up in the bliss of the moment and the feeling of his lips and body moving against yours, it takes a second for you to register what he’s said, let alone reply. “Yeah? What’s that?” 

Poe grins, his eyes sparkling as he presses your foreheads together, “Forgot to tell you I love you.”

“You didn’t have to, you showed me.” You tell him before you crack a yawn. Poe hums in acknowledgement, then rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re on top of his chest. “What are you doing?” you ask him as he shifts on his pillows, quite obviously getting ready to go back to sleep, especially since he closes his eyes. “We have to get up.”

“You’re tired,” Poe answers, like that’s going to change the fact that you both probably have very busy schedules ahead of you. His arms snake around you, holding you closely but not tightly - just firm enough that you feel safe and content. He peers open one eye at you, his lips twitching up into a smile, “and we actually have the morning off.”

“What?” 

“Yeah, no drills today. There’s supposed to be a storm.” Poe grins up at you. “I was up first by, like, three hours.” He swipes his thumb across your cheek. “Cancelled all the drills on account of the weather, crawled back into bed with you. I was planning on letting you sleep in, I know how you feel about storms so -”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his in a sweet, languid kiss, your lips sliding against his. Every little thing he does only endears him more to you: this ridiculous, sweet, considerate, rebellious, dashing man is everything you’re fighting for, and you hope he knows it.

When you pull back to find him staring moonstruck at you, you think he might feel the same. “What was that for?” he asks. 

“Because I love you too,” you tell him and he brightens. You relax in his arms, pressing your cheek to his chest as he tucks his chin over the crown of your head. Sleep tugs at your bones, warm and content, and it’s not long before you’re both dozing off again, the sound of rain echoing lightly through the base as the storm begins outside.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Loved your latest chapter and Im so excited to see what happens under the mountain!

I was wondering if I could request a one-shot?(up to you how long and you can do it in your own time)something along the lines of:

Feyre( from either ACOWAR, ACOFAS or ACOSF) time travels back to ACOTAR, but instead of finding herself back in her human body i the spring court, she's still in her fae body and ends up trapped in velaris, having to explain to the rest of IC who she is and why she cant go free their highlord(add some mistrust from the IC)

🙈🙈Id its very similar to what youre doing rn with your other fic but, if you find the inspiration sometime could you please do this? Ive wanted to read a fic for ages were feyre rime travels and meets pre-acomaf inner circle who dont know/trust her, but Ive never found a fic like that

Thank youuu

Hi lovely anon! It makes me so happy you enjoyed my latest chapter! I’m supposed to be working on a project for uni, but I couldn’t resist gratifying my lovely friends (because you're anon and won't be notified I was getting sad at the idea of you checking my blog and not seeing me respond) <3 I’ll admit I’m a bit scatterbrained at the moment, so I hope it’s okay!

I was having trouble brainstorming a reason for Feyre getting sent back in time because I didn't want to borrow the reasoning from ACoFD. So I was vague and twisted the pre-existing rules around the Ouroboros, and ended up getting quite carried away with the story since I don’t like not giving things a happy ending (even though it’s a little cheesy, sorry)

Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! I know you wanted the angst of not being able to save Rhys but... I couldn't just leave my poor bat-boy behind, you know? ;)

Also if this didn't quite scratch that itch, I'm always happy to take more requests

Word count: 4,446

The Ouroboros.

It was a massive, round disc—as tall as Feyre was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail.

Ending and beginning.

From across the room, Feyre could not see it. What lay within.

She forced herself to take a step forward. Another.

The mirror itself was black as night—yet… wholly clear.

She watched herself approach. Watched the arm she had upraised against the wind and snow, the pinched expression on her face. The exhaustion.

She stopped three feet away. She did not dare touch it.

It only showed Feyre herself. Nothing.

Feyre scanned the mirror for any signs of… something to push or touch with her magic. But there was only the devouring head of the serpent, its maw open wide, frost sparkling on its fangs.

Feyre stared and stared, but all she saw was herself. There was nothing else. Then—

Feyre woke with a gasp, sitting up in bed to shake away the cobwebs of sleep and the strange, foreboding feeling that felt draped around her shoulders like a weighted cape, pulling her down. It hadn’t been a particularly horrifying nightmare. In fact, it was perhaps of the tamer dreams she’d had in the last year.

Yet something about it clung to her, perhaps a lingering agitation that she’d yet to retrieve the mirror the Bone Carver had requested. That must be it.

The bed space beside her was cold. The sun peaking through the window was not high, it couldn’t be long past dawn. However worrisome her own dream, her mate’s must have been worse to draw him from sleep so early. Worse still for him to sneak away.

Feyre rose from the bed, reaching absently for Rhysand’s dressing robe to wrap around herself. She always loved to steal her mate’s clothes, to be wrapped in his scent.

With gentle steps, she made her way to the study, where she could only assume Rhys had sequestered himself in the lone hours of the night. She’d noticed the weary draw to his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. This war was weighing on him heavily, and he was nervous. Feyre wished he didn’t insist on shouldering the burden alone.

“Rhys?” Feyre called softly as she got to the study, knocking on the door before she cracked it open.

Peeking her head around the door, she was met with the sight of Rhysand’s abandoned study. The scattered papers and war maps that had become characteristic of his desk space were surprisingly missing. In fact, the whole space had been cleared away and there was a thick layer of dust on every surface as if no one had been in here in years.

Feyre frowned at the sight, and how different it had been just the day before. Where had all the dust come from? And more importantly, where was Rhys? Perhaps he’d taken a morning flight to clear his head.

Where are you, love? She called to him through the mating bond, but was met with silence.

“Who are you?”

The voice was cold and venomous. Feyre turned, coming face to face with Mor, whose face was twisted into a threatening scowl.

“Mor?” Feyre asked, confused by her friend’s cold demeanor. “What do you mean? Have you seen Rhys?”

Mor’s face turned deadly, a look Feyre had only ever seen from Mor in the Court of Nightmares. “Is that some kind of joke?” she snarled.

Then, before Feyre could process what was happening, Mor had gripped onto Feyre’s wrist and they were enveloped in darkness. They stepped into the House of Wind, into the dining room where Cassian and Azriel abruptly stood up.

“Mor?” Feyre questioned when the blonde didn’t release her steel grip. She looked to Cassian and Azriel quizzically. “Guys? What’s going on?”

Cassian crossed his arms, assessing Feyre with a hostility that put her on edge. “Who’s this, Mor?” he asked gruffly.

Feyre frowned as she watched Azriel reach for Truth-Teller.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, flitting her eyes to each of her friends. Where she sought that friendly warmth in each of their gazes she was met with hard stares, filled with distrust, ready for a brawl. She couldn’t make sense of it. Was this an act Rhys had put them up to?

“I found her in the townhouse,” Mor said. “I don’t know how she got in there. She was in Rhysand’s study.”

“And she’s wearing his dressing gown,” Azriel noted dryly. Cassian did a double glance, his eyes going wide, then narrowing with a rage Feyre had never seen from the male. Certainly never directed at her.

There was a whisper of shadow, then suddenly Azriel was behind her, Truth-Teller poised at her throat.

Feyre startled. “Azriel!” she said sharply. Even if it was a joke, Feyre couldn’t imagine Rhysand would sanction this kind of threat. And the energy in the room was off, the tension too thick. “Stand down.”

“And who are you,” he breathed in her ear, his voice coated in shadow and nightmare, “to command the Shadowsinger of the Night Court?”

“I’m your High Lady,” Feyre answered steadily, not letting Azriel’s shadows, nor cunning voice, shake her resolve. “Now, I don’t know what is going on with the three of you, or what strange joke you’re trying to pull, but you will listen to what I say. Put. Your. Knife. Down.”

“High Lady?” Cassian repeated with a snort of disbelief. “You’ve got balls, little girl.”

Truth-Teller danced across the skin of her neck, pressing lightly enough to intimidate without breaking skin. “Do you even know to whom you speak? You should be bowing before the acting Queen of the Night Court.”

Too stunned to properly resist, Azriel kicked his feet out to knock Feyre to her knees in front of Mor. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping it tightly to pull her head back as Truth-Teller resumed its threatening position at her throat.

“Breaking into the High Lord’s personal residence, impersonating a high position within the Night Court, lying to the Morrigan’s face,” Azriel listed, increasing the pressure of the blade with each transgression. “You throw our High Lord’s generosity and protection in his face, something we as his acting Court do not take lightly.”

“Acting court? Acting Queen?” Feyre repeated, feeling as if she’d woken to a different reality. “What are you talking about? Where’s Rhysand!?”

“We’re the ones asking the questions here,” Cassian growled.

Feyre looked to each of her friends, studying their faces. Beyond their militant expression, she could see their grief. Could smell it. She repeated, “where is Rhysand?”

She felt the snarl that rumbled through Azriel’s chest behind her, vibrating against her back. When the question was once again unanswered, Feyre abandoned all sense of patience.

Darkness exploded through the room. She heard Mor gasp as the walls of the House shook from the might of her power. Feyre folded into the shadows, winnowing out of Azriel’s grasp so she stood in the center of the three of them.

“Az, Cass, Mor, you are my friends and I do not want to hurt you. But I am also your High Lady and you will answer me this instant, where is Rhys? Where is my mate!?”

Siphons gleamed red and blue through the thick tendrils of night, illuminating the Illyrian males’ faces. Cassian’s jaw had fallen open, while Azriel was studying her through narrowed eyes, wisps of shadow surrounding him. Feyre wondered what they were whispering to him.

“Mate?” Cassian echoed, the first to break the heavy silence.

Mor took a cautious step forward, her countenance completely changed. Her pupils were blown wide, twin brown depths churning with sorrow and gentle astonishment. Azriel went rigid at Mor’s approach, but no one moved to stop her as she came face to face with Feyre.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, taking Feyre’s left hand, eye fixed on her mating band. On the sapphire-star ring that once belonged to Rhysand’s mother.

All eyes befell the subject of Mor’s attention. Cassian swore softly in recognition.

“It’s my mating band,” Feyre answered measuredly, still puzzled that the inner circle, her family, didn’t seem to have any memory of it. Nor of her. “I won it from the Weaver, as was the task set by Rhysand’s mother. But you were all there for that. I don’t understand what’s going on. Where. Is. Rhys?”

“Under the Mountain,” Mor whispered, her voice soft and pained.

The darkness ebbed away like a receding tide. Feyre felt her heart sink as she tried to process this information. “He—What?”

“He’s been Under the Mountain for the last 50 years,” Mor said, firmer this time. “And if you were his so-called mate, you would know that.”

“No,” Feyre said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, that’s impossible. We got out. We—”

This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare, and she just hadn’t woken up from it.

“Amarantha’s dead,” Feyre insisted, mostly in an attempt to console the unparalleled grief and panic that were raging inside her. “She’s dead, and Rhys and I got out.”

The grim faces of her friends said otherwise. They stared at her, in unbearable mixtures of pity and horror.

“I think she’s having a mental break,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “Should we get a healer?”

“Let me show you,” Feyre said meekly, casting her magic out to tap on their mental shields.

They all tensed, clearly not aware they’d been in the presence of a daemati. Trained well by Rhys, they all cracked their shields just enough for Feyre to send her conjured memories through. She showed them going Under the Mountain as a human, winning the trials and being resurrected, falling in love with Rhys, and eventually becoming High Lady of the Night Court. In turn, the three of them pushed back their own memories, of the current state of the world. Of Rhysand sacrificing himself so that his Court and Velaris would be safe.

A sob broke out of Feyre. “How is this possible? How am I here?”

It was Azriel who immediately went for the jugular. “More importantly, if you’re here as a High Fae, how is Rhys going to get out? How do we stop Amarantha?”

Feyre fell to her knees, grief-stricken by this realization. She was no longer human. She couldn’t stride in as Tamlin’s human lover and undergo the trials. Feyre had her powers, but they were untested. Would she be able to take on the whole of Amarantha’s court?

“What do I do? How do I save him?” she whimpered, staring in mute horror at her mating band.

Mor tentatively reached forward, laying a comforting hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “Rhys sacrificed himself to keep the people he loves safe. He wouldn’t want you getting yourself killed trying to save him.”

“I have to try,” Feyre answered desperately. “Amarantha she’s…” Feyre couldn’t bring herself to say the word, rape. Not to his family, who wear his sacrifice for them like an open wound. “She’s doing unspeakable things to him. He’s suffering so much. I can’t leave him to that fate. I have to try.”

With renewed conviction, Feyre accepted Mor’s outstretched hand and picked herself to her feet. “Rhys said it himself once. Amarantha’s biggest weapon is that she keeps the High Lord’s power contained. She can’t access them herself. But I… I have access to all the High Lords’ powers. And that bitch has my mate. My wrath will be plenty to take her down.” She faced her friends, who watched her warily. “You have my word as your High Lady,” she swore to them. “The High Queen of Prythian is going to fall by the night’s end.”

⟡⟡⟡

Winter had not yet fallen in the Mortal Lands. Feyre wondered if across the world, there was a version of herself curled in a bed with her sisters, clinging to any shred of warmth and survival.

That version of Feyre was very different from the version who strode up the sloping hills of the Spring Court with Azriel by her side. Rhys would be furious that Feyre had allowed him to accompany her. Should anything go wrong, it would destroy her mate to know his family had been put in harm's way after everything he’d done to protect them. Which was why it was only Azriel who came with, the only compromise she could reach with his Inner Circle, who insisted on coming with.

Who better to sneak into the Mountain with than the very soldier who taught Feyre the art of stealth. He was the obvious choice, since Mor needed to stay to rule the Night Court and Cassian was too heavy-handed to handle such a delicate task.

Their footfall was silent. Feyre wrapped them in the shadow of Night as they winnowed through the cave network. Her heart hammered in her chest, panicked to be back in the source of so many nightmares.

But Rhysand was more important than her fear. For him, she would not falter.

With the Shadowsinger by her side, Feyre snuck through the winding tunnels until she came to a familiar passageway. They slid into a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles.

To attack Amarantha in the throne room would be too messy. Too many variables to contend with, should Amarantha have enough wit about her to use any faeries as a shield. Especially Rhysand.

After several hours of waiting, the lock on the door clicked and swung open. Darkness swirled around the room as Rhysand took in the sight of Feyre and Azriel on the bed.

Immediately, the door slammed shut.

“No,” he whispered, voice dripping with horror. “No.”

“Rhys—” Feyre started, but her mate wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was looking at Azriel as if his whole world had shattered.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. This was no happy reunion between brothers. This was Rhysand’s worst nightmare. “Leave this instant, you stupid fool. That is, if you’re lucky enough to have avoided detection when you passed under her wards.”

“I took down the wards,” Feyre said. They weren’t particularly strong, either. Amarantha had gotten lazy, perhaps thinking herself secure with the only spell-cleaver under her control. Or so she believed.

Rhys turned that quiet fury towards her. “And who are you?”

“Your mate,” Feyre answered steadily, tipping her chin up.

Rhysand laughed. A desperate, humorless sound. “Then you are just as foolish as my idiot brother. And you have both sealed your deaths by being here. Do you understand that?”

Feyre scratched along those familiar adamantite shields. Rhys’s eyes flickered in surprise, but otherwise he looked unruffled as he cracked a sliver open for her.

It would be unwise to underestimate me, mate.

I wouldn’t be going around boasting about such a thing, if what you claim is even true, came his icy response. And I wouldn’t count on a few party tricks to save you, either.

And what if I told you, she purred, that I possess the power of all seven High Lords?

That, at least, garnered a reaction from the stoic male. He narrowed his eyes in disbelief, studying Feyre carefully. His gaze caught on her hands, at the lace tattoos that flowed to her fingers. And the mating band she still wore.

Feyre watched those violet eyes go wide, the silver constellations dancing in astonishment at the sight of his mother’s ring.

Where did you get that?

It’s a long story, love, but you’re going to have to trust me. She lowered her mental shields completely. Have a look for yourself. I’m telling you no lies. I am your High Lady, and I am here to free my husband.

She felt those familiar talons wrap around her mind. A foolish thing to do, to give a daemati unrestricted access to her mind. And if it were anyone but Rhys, it would have been. But his touch was gentle, and he took only the information he needed.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” he whispered, breaking the silence of the room. Azriel had been waiting patiently, but looked relieved to be included in the conversation once more. “And I hate that you’ve put yourselves in danger for this, but it could work.”

Rhys considered for a long moment, then he looked between Feyre and Azriel and said, “do it when she’s sleeping. That bitch has been playing dirty for 50 years, you might as well level the playing field to give yourselves the best chance. Let’s do it tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked, wear her out, and signal you once she’s asleep. Her spell prevents me from harming her, but I’ll make sure she’s restrained. All you have to do is drive the ash dagger through her heart, but have your magic ready for damage control.”

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Azriel waited in Rhysand’s bedchambers for his signal. There was a revelry tonight, as there was every night Under the Mountain, and Rhys was expected to be in attendance. Afterwards, he’d join Amarantha in her bed and make sure she was, in his words, “thoroughly exhausted”.

It was torturous for Feyre. To know exactly what the implication in those words were, to have to use her mate’s body in such a way. She wanted to roar at the Mountain, at the Cauldron, at anything that would listen, but instead she was next to the quiet, brooding Shadowsinger, and lamented in silence.

She’d begged Rhys to reconsider, to perhaps help them stage a more physical encounter that didn’t rely on his own suffering. But he’d denied any plan but the one he’d proposed, insisting it would cause him more anguish to but Feyre and Azriel in harm's way.

So they waited the long, agonizing hours until she felt a delicate pull at her chest. She’s asleep, Rhys called. Be on your guard.

He sent her directions to Amarantha’s bedchambers. There were guards outside, but Feyre and Azriel winnowed past them, cloaked in night and shadow.

Amarantha’s bedchambers were huge. Feyre had never been inside them before, but she was unsurprised to see they provided any luxury a High Queen could wish for.

Atop a large bed of red, silken sheets, lay her mate and Amarantha, both stark naked. The smell of sex clung to the air, Rhysand and Amarantha’s scents intertwined. Feyre thought she might be sick.

Even more sickening was the sight before her, of Amarantha’s arms restrained to the headboard in cloth. A clever way for Rhys to restrain her under the guise of sex, but horrifying nonetheless, to see the proof of what they’d been up to. The female was fast asleep, so convinced of her authority that she could fall asleep tied-up and not feel vulnerable doing so. How satisfying, Feyre thought, that such arrogance would be her downfall.

Feyre warded the room, putting up a shield of darkness so that no sound would break through to alert the guards. Rhys watched their approach warily from where he perched beside Amarantha, so still Feyre was convinced he held his breath.

He wouldn’t risk moving to wake her up, which terrified Feyre. Should something go wrong, her mate would be susceptible to Amarantha’s wrath. Naked, vulnerable, and completely under her control. It was such a dangerous game they were playing.

The room was as quiet and still as the bewitching hours of the night, their footsteps silent as they picked across the room. Azriel held the ash dagger. If Rhys could not kill Amarantha, his brother wanted to do it on his behalf. Meanwhile, Feyre summoned tendrils of night that carefully wrapped around Amarantha’s legs, slithering up her body like a snake, ready to constrict and restrain.

The female stirred in her sleep, perhaps feeling the ghostlike touch of Feyre’s magic. But she did not wake. Not as Azriel raised the dagger over her chest, and not as he plunged it down.

Amarantha’s eyes shot open as the dagger pierced her chest. She let out a shriek of agony and ire, moving to claw at her attacker. She raged against the restraints, spewing obscenities until they died at her lips as the blade sunk into her heart.

Rhysand’s chest was heaving as he watched the female still, then slump. He looked from her dead body, to Azriel and Feyre.

Feyre’s heart sank as she watched her mate process that it was truly over. There wasn’t a trace of elation in his eyes at being liberated, but she understood why. Rhys would finally be returning home, but as a much different man than the one he had been. He’d survived, but not unscathed, and he’d need time to process this.

Feyre came to him, reached towards her mate with the hand that bore his mother’s ring. Rhys looked to it, then up to her. His eyes were clouded with sorrow, with a melancholy she could only hope to chip away at in time. But she could see stirring beneath it was a breath of hope, perhaps the first he’d allowed himself in a long time.

“Let’s go home, Rhys,” she said gently.

Slowly, Rhysand nodded, moving to grasp her hand. She felt him jolt at the touch and, as she glanced at him questioningly, she saw his lips part in wonder.

I suppose you weren’t lying about being my mate, he whispered, the words a sensual brush in her mind. Thank you for coming to rescue me, High Lady.

Feyre grasped onto Azriel, and together the three of them stepped into darkness.

Then, they were above the House of Wind, tumbling through the night sky. Feyre unfurled her wings before Rhys could move to catch them, worried that her mate would struggle after 50 years without flight.

Both males stared in astonishment at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes danced in awe as Feyre, albeit clumsily, carried them to the training ring on the roof.

Rhys snapped his own wings open as they landed. Feyre watched him tilt his head back in rapture as he felt the wind against his wings for the first time in decades. Then he opened his eyes, his expression shifting to reverence as he beheld the night sky.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see it again,” he whispered, his voice a heartbreaking blend of exaltation and disbelief. “And for this gift… for my salvation to be courtesy of my mate and of my brother… I’m a bit overwhelmed,” he admitted sheepishly.

Feyre hesitated. If this was the Rhysand from before, the one to which she was mated and married, she would come to comfort him. But this version of Rhys had only just been freed from enslavement, and she didn’t know what he needed.

As though sensing her hesitation, Rhys cast his eyes back to the sky. “I know they’re all waiting for me downstairs, but I’d like a little bit of time with the stars. Will you let them know, Az?”

Azriel nodded, though he seemed conflicted. His reunion with his brother was perhaps not as merry as the male had expected. But right now, she knew the Inner Circle would hardly deny Rhys anything. Perhaps for a long while yet. So Azriel headed downstairs to inform their friends, who were sure to be anxiously awaiting their arrival.

Rhysand regarded Feyre carefully once the two of them were alone. “Mate and High Lady,” he mused. “You seem to wear many hats.”

“You forgot ‘wife’,” Feyre said lightly.

“Yes, and ‘Salvation’, ‘Queen Killer’, ‘Most Beautiful Female in Prythian’, it seems there’s many things I could call you. Could we start with your name, perchance?”

Feyre was shocked. She’d assumed he’d taken such information out of her mind earlier, but it seems he’d been even more respectful than she’d expected.

“Feyre,” she answered. “My name is Feyre.”

He looked wonderstruck. “Feyre,” he repeated, testing the name on his lips. A gentle smile curled at the corners of his mouth, the first she’d seen from him yet. He extended his hand towards her. “Would you like to watch the stars with me, Feyre?”

It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her hand found his with all the casual grace of a dancer, as if it were a routine they’d been perfecting their whole lives. Their fingers interlocked and as one, they stared up at the dazzling night sky.

This reality wasn’t perfect, Feyre thought. This Rhys was different from her own, and he still had a lot of healing to do. But if she could be there for him, to help him in a ways she hadn’t before, then she would be grateful to the strange eddies of the Cauldron for bringing her here. For allowing her to end his torment early. For giving them this extra time.

She watched a shooting star dart across the sky and smiled as it passed. There was nothing she could wish for except that her mate find peace in all that he’d endured the last half century.

His deep, velvety voice cut through the silence. “Do you often wish on stars, Feyre?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a heart-wrenching wistfulness.

“Only when I have a wish worthy of the stars.”

“And do you?”

Feyre looked to the northernmost star, which shined brightest in the sky. “I wished for a light in the darkness,” she told him. “I don’t think the stars would ever begrudge such a wish.”

Rhysand nodded solemnly. “It’s true that they would be begrudging themselves in doing so. But I see no need for you to wish for such a thing.”

Feyre looked to him. He was still watching her, but something in him had shifted. He was smiling at her gently, that lingering sadness already receding. “Why’s that?” she asked cautiously.

That gentle smile widened, showing off his brilliant teeth. “Why, Feyre, to find such a thing, all you’d need to do is look in a mirror.”

[pikatalia]

More Than Just A Hero: Volo x Reader

By Pikatalia 🐶 and @bellafragolina

Chapter One: Alpha Glalie

The scream that echoes across the Icelands is enough to freeze you. You straighten up, the wind clawing at your clothes, and glance around for the source of the scream. It sounded like a Pokémon, probably an alpha one from that volume. You’re closer to the Pearl Clan village than you would prefer to be with an alpha nearby, so you adjust your course and try to follow the cry.

It comes again, ringing in your ears with its intensity. But it’s what follows the scream that worries you. A shout, that of a person, one fraught with pain and fear. You pick up the pace, running through the snow now, desperate to save the poor soul that got caught up in an alpha’s wrath.

You skid to a stop at the top of a jagged hill edge, peering down at the valley below to see a Glalie building up power for an ice move. Its glowing red eyes are focused at the base of another hill, and there you spot a familiar blue and yellow uniform. Your heart stalls in your chest as you recognize the face of the Ginko Guild merchant, a man you haven’t seen since the fateful day at the Temple of Sinnoh.

Without much thought, you fling yourself down the hill, into the valley, rushing towards the two. Your shout of anger draws the attention of the alpha Glalie, who swings around with a furious cry that its attack has been interrupted by a feeble distraction. Your anger spikes – you’ve wanted to see Volo again for so long, and now here he is, about to die to this wild Pokémon.

Your hands are hot as you dodge ice shards flying at you from all around. You dart between the Glalie and Volo, ignoring whatever he’s shouting in favor of the rapid approach of the Glalie. The wind is picking up, thick slush carried with it, but you ignore the snow splattering into your face. With grit teeth, you act one instinct, throwing your fist forward in a punch-

Fiery orange sparkles alight around your fist, consuming the image of the Glalie as your fist makes contact with where the Pokémon’s nose would be, if it had one. You’re swallowed in the warmth of the flames, jerking back from your own punch with a gasp. Smoke billows from your fist, perfectly uninjured despite the fire punch move you just performed. You pant, surprised, at the reeling alpha.

The Glalie, startled by your sudden attack, flees before you can work up the rage to fire punch it again. As it disappears into the foggy distance, you remember yourself, and whip around to face the man you just saved.

Volo is pale as a ghost, clutching his janked leg as he stares up at you in utter awe. You fall to your knees beside him, frantic, and check his leg over. His pants are torn, and you can see the bad bruising of what could be a break beneath the blue fabric. If his leg is broken, you’ll probably have to carry him to camp.

“You-” Volo can’t say much more before you have his cheeks between your palms. His lips are soft against yours, but cold. Not good.

“You’re okay.” You say in relief once you pull back. Volo is slack-jawed, and doesn’t fight as you slide your arms beneath him. Surveying has paid off, for the lanky man weighs hardly anything in your arms. “I’ve got you! Let’s get you somewhere safe so you can get patched up.”

Volo is silent as you begin your trek towards the Pearl Clan village. His gray eyes bore into the side of your head, but you ignore it for now, focused on moving through the snow with delicate cargo.

As the village appears on the horizon, Volo finally speaks.

“Fire came out of your fist.” He says.

“It sure did.” You respond, hiking him up further into your arms.

“How?”

“I wish I knew. Would’ve helped with surveying and quelling the nobles.”

Silence once again envelopes you both. People at the edge of the village have taken notice of you, and shout further into the village, calling for Irida. Not wanting to jostle Volo when you inevitably get crowded, you set him down on a nearby rock, careful of his leg.

To keep him warm (and safe) while you’re gone, you release your Typhlosion, Dango, and instruct him to keep watch over Volo. The merchant scoffs, but doesn’t say anything as Dango turns his attention onto him. The large Pokémon is intimidating enough to forgo any ideas of rebellion in Volo’s mind.

You rush into the village once that’s settled, nearly slamming into Irida on her way out. She grabs you by the shoulders to steady the both of you, then shakes you some.

“Where did you find Volo?!” She demands, eyes wide and bright with panic. “And why did you bring him here!?”

“There was an alpha Glalie nearby.” You explain, breathless. “It had Volo cornered, I think it broke his leg! I couldn’t just leave him to die, Irida!”

The wrinkled expression Irida’s face takes on shows that she thinks you could’ve, but she doesn’t say anything about. “Alright, alright. You’re lucky Warden Calaba is still here, helping with some illnesses that swept the clan earlier this month.”

“Do you think she can help Volo?” You ask, hands clasped before you.

“For you?” Irida asks. “Yes. For him? Not so much. I think she’ll help, but she won’t be happy about it.”

You wince. None of the clans nor the Galaxy Team are fond of Volo after his betrayal. You can understand their anger, but you’re glad Irida is willing to look past his wrongdoings to help you ensure he doesn’t die out here.

You wait at the village entrance for Warden Calaba, who sighs heavily once she’s at your side. You show her to where Dango is watching over Volo, tensing at the glare she sends the merchant.

“Broke your leg?” Calaba asks, setting down her basket of herbs to properly look over the limb.

“Possibly.” Volo responds, muted. He glares at Calaba, then at you, his cheeks rosy from the cold. You admire the color on him, then snap back to attention when Calaba starts to speak again.

“Does it hurt when I touch here?” She asks, pressing on Volo’s leg. He winces and nods. “And here?” A muffled yelp. More nodding. “And what about here?”

“Are you done!?” Volo snaps.

“That’s not even a morsel of what you deserve after all you’ve done.” Calaba snaps back. Volo wilts, growling at his lap. “You’re lucky the hero didn’t leave you to die to that Glalie. It’s what most everyone else would’ve done.”

“W-Warden Calaba.” You say, before the two can well and truly start fighting. As funny as it would probably be, watching a man with a broken leg trying to fight a ninety-nine year-old-woman, you don’t want it to come to that. Besides, Calaba would probably win, and Volo doesn’t need a bruised pride on top of his other injuries. “Is his leg broken?”

“It is.” Calaba says, clipped. She turns her nose up to Volo, then regards you with a scowl. “I don’t understand your kindness towards the betrayer, but I respect you. There’s a cabin near the Snowfall Hot Springs. Take him there, and you’ll both be safe while you rest. I’ll bring herbs that should help with his pain, and for if he happens to develop an illness or infection.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for our hero.” Calaba says with a nod. “Take him to the cabin, and splint his leg. Keep him off of it if you can.”

“I will.”

Calaba gives another nod before she starts back towards the village. “Good luck. With him, you’re going to need it.”

Silence envelops you once more. Dango huffs steam into the cold hair, lowering his head so you can pet him. The heat of his fur against your hands reminds you of the fire punch you performed. What was that, and why could you do it? Can you do it again? It’s certainly something to try, now that you’re about to have a lot of free time.

You retrieve your flute, and play on it to summon Wyrdeer. The steed comes barreling over the mountains not long after, snorting a thick steam from his nostrils once he stops before you. You coo up at the noble, and show him Volo, carefully explaining the plan. Wyrdeer doesn’t seem pleased, but he lowers himself to allow you to ease Volo onto his back. The merchant says nothing, nose wrinkled the entire time.

It’s a quiet journey through the Icelands.

🐶🐶🐶🐶

Thank you to @bellafragolina for helping me get this idea that was stuck in my head out in writing!!! I’m a sucker for Volo even after he was a jerk so we took this idea and ran with it. ❤️🐶