#or who knows. maybe after he’s done it’d fix him a little bit. you never know.

[satanic-fruitcake]

things that would kill Armand

watching Fleabag

that’s it

[lisenberry]

A little early for WIP Wednesday, but I've been thinking about this one for a while and it had me in a chokehold this morning. Snippet from something longer.

Alpha Bountyhunter!Price x Omega Saloon Madam!Reader

Western in the vein of Deadwood, Godless, and Silverado (thank you @thecoziestbean)

Title: I was born to run, you were born to stay (so hold me close)

CW: Violence, murder, sex work, ABO/Omegaverse, past trauma

“Are you the madam?”  The timbre of his voice spoke to a memory you’ll never forget.

If you had a doubt before, thinking your eyes and your olfactory deceived you, you were sure as shit now.

“I am.  And don’t bother, I know who you are.  A lawman in Chicago, before the war?”

“Yeah, I was there.” As if he got the question all the time. As if he was famous or something.

“Sergeant John Price?  You gunned down my daddy like he was a mad dog in the street.”

“I've killed a lot of daddies. Did he deserve it?”  He licked at the foamy bubbles of beer clinging to his thick, dark mustache before wiping it with the back of his hand.

His glacial eyes fixed on yours, assessing.

“Maybe.  But I sure as hell didn’t.” 

His gaze slipped down to the scarf around your neck, strategically placed to muddy your scent and disguise your bitten gland. 

“It's Captain now. Never met a mated whore before.”  He finished his drink with a long, thirsty pull.  Simultaneously changing the subject of his culpability in the wayward trajectory of your life, and daring to insult you for it.

“Widowed.”  You challenged his derision with a light tone, as you replaced his empty mug with a fresh fill.

“I’m sorry, and for the offense as well.  What happened to him?”  He didn’t seem very sorry.  In fact, you imagined it was a disposition as foreign to him as couth.  

“He was shot in the face.  Very tragic.”  A sweet, satisfied smile graced your lips.

“You sound real tore up about it.”

“I was.  The recoil on that rifle nearly dislocated my shoulder.”  Your boldness was rewarded with a surprised, choking snort.

“Is there a warrant out for your arrest anywhere?”  he asked, recovering with an inquisitive grin.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you.  Truss me up and drag me in?”  You were playing with fire, judging by the flare of hot blue light that accompanied the sharp huff of air into his nose.  Like a bull chuffing at the dirt.

But you were too long in the tooth to be simpering for ornery old alphas.  After what he’d done to you, it seemed only right to give him a bit of trouble.

“No, I imagine you’d just put me down all swift and quiet like, not wanting the fight.”  If he was going to insult your honor, you’d give it right back.

But he didn’t rise to the bait.  Not as quick to anger as that last lingering impression you had of him from years ago.  Shame, it was a sight.

“Do I have to worry about you, darling?” An unsettling warmth displaced any suspicion in his words.

You glanced down at the bar top, to see just how close his hand was to yours.  A tingle of electricity drawing you in against your will.

Can’t fight your nature, child.  It’d been the last thing your grieving mama said to you before you were loaded onto that stock car filled with young, first heat omegas.  Alongside the cattle slated for auction.  Each one moaning and crying a different tune.

“Reckon you’d be a fool not to, Captain.” 

[britcision]

Alright, not a lot for you this WIP Wednesday, I have been doing a lot of spring cleaning! But here you go, just a lil Jason getting out there to keep an eye on his family

Featuring Harper Row for the first actual time, cuz she’s great and she deserves to be here!

First part of chapter 13, the rest is, as always, in the tags. Title is subject to change

———————

Hello Crime Lord My Old Friend

About twenty minutes after dropping Danny off at his dorm, Jason was suited up and ready to go.

Well, he’d stayed outside until he’d seen Danny shut the door behind him first. Jason had some fucking manners, though if pressed he couldn’t name who’d taught him them.

Danny’s dorm was about fifteen minutes from one of Jason’s better safe houses, as it happened. Jason had never been to a dorm, but from Danny’s stories?

A step below Teen Titans’ bunks, and those had sucked. Less privacy, smaller rooms, and more people? Who weren’t even part of the same team?

Maybe next semester Jason could offer to let Danny move in. He didn’t need need the safe house.

Red Hood could always buy the building. There were other apartments and while they weren’t luxurious, they beat half his other spots. The neighbourhood wasn’t bad either.

It’d be nice to pay Danny back a bit. Not have him closer. Just. Repay some of the debt by giving him a place to stay, rent free.

And maybe, just a little bit, the part of Jason that enjoyed the romanticism of his period novels kinda liked the idea. An estate for the king on your lands was a big deal back then.

A slightly more modern part of him thought being a landlord for his ruler would also be pretty funny. He figured Danny would enjoy that side too.

And it wasn’t like the guy could complain, since he’d literally given Jason back himself. Yeah, Jason was gonna pull that one out if Danny tried any familiar “oh I can’t accept this” on him.

Fixing his core was pretty damn god level on the favours spectrum. Jason could do whatever the hell he liked and Danny would just have to deal with it.

It cheered him up a little more, kept him in a good mood on the ride back to his safe house. It was more time where he couldn’t help Cass, but seriously?

Danny could change in a matter of seconds and be at her side not much slower. Walls, cars, goons, Jason had this feeling that none of it would slow Danny down.

And yeah, knowing that helped, but there was still a piece of him that only unknotted as he slid his helmet on and headed to the window.

“Hey, Black Bat. Busy?” He asked as the comms switched from earpiece to helmet display.

Of course he wore both. People kept trying to steal his damn helmet. That was also what the internal explosives were for.

The others all piped up when they heard him, Harper and Steph calling cheerful greetings around an ongoing conversation.

“Shit, Hood’s in, this mean I can go back to bed?” Bluebird teased. Spoiler cut her off immediately.

“Hell no, it can’t be a school night, Robin’s here! Great timing though Hood, we’re planning Red Robin’s eulogy and you have some experience there,” Spoiler chirped brightly, and Jason hesitated.

Sucked in a breath. He wasn’t gonna judge anyone else’s coping mechanisms until they got past “heads in a bag” levels.

Best to ignore it, since she wasn’t actually trying to set him off.

What the hell had Tim done since they’d left the manor?

Shaking his head, Jason settled into Red Hood and hopped onto the fire escape, scaling easily to the roof.

“Black Bat?” He repeated instead of answering, and half smiled when Spoiler groaned dramatically.

Black Bat answered in the considerate group pause.

“Not busy. Why?” She sounded amused, not even particularly tired, and Jason relaxed enough to slip all the way in.

“Thinking of going a little out of my way tonight. Wondered if you’d mind a tagalong?” Red Hood asked, hoping he sounded casual.

It wasn’t like he’d been planning to patrol the Alley anyway; his guys had already been told to handle it. He’d have to run around tomorrow night to keep the creepers scared, but he could have a couple off.

The tiny pause before her answer didn’t quite feel like judgement, but Jason muted before blowing out the sigh as she did. It wasn’t like the others needed to know he’d been stressing.

“Sure. Meet at the library?” She’d had his tracker up. Hood nodded, turning and running for the edge of the roof.

“Sounds good.” And they’d probably wound Spoiler up enough, she’d start plotting vengeance for being ignored soon. “So what the hell did Little Red do?”

“Brought Too Fine to the Bat Cave,” Spoiler told him with relish, not noticeably put out by the delay.

Not necessarily a good sign, since she was also this enthusiastic while actively plotting against him.

Wait.

Too Fine was Tucker’s hacker name.

“But he doesn’t know about us,” Red Hood said with a frown, catching an outcropping and swinging on.

“Oh, now you tell me,” Tim groused while the others snickered, “what a shame you didn’t think to when it’d have actually been helpful!”

News to Hood that he was on, probably still in the cave.

“He knows now,” Nightwing chimed in brightly, probably also travelling from the slight strain in his voice.

Hood paused for a moment, letting that sink in before attempting the next jump.

“Is he on comm?” He asked warily, because if Tim brought Tucker to the bat cave, it was entirely possible that they were all outed.

And that Tucker might tell Danny.

Shit, he still had to text Harley. Resolving to do it once he hit the library, he set back to running, throwing himself across another street.

Cass would probably take a little longer to get there.

“He’ll be back, he’s in the bathroom,” Tim explained with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “It’s not all bad, he’s given me the full story on what happened in Amity Park. Witness account and all.”

“From a witness you let down to the bat cave~” Spoiler sang sweetly across the air.

Red Hood could hear Oracle rolling her eyes as she cut in.

“Tone it down, Batgirl. Bluebird, if you’re still thinking of heading in, could you swing past one last site on your way?” She said firmly, then lightening her tone for their current guest.

“Batgirl who? I’m Spoiler,” Spoiler grumbled, but didn’t push beyond that. None of them did when Oracle invoked the name she’d had second.

Bluebird snickered at her before answering the question, a hint of exertion suggesting she was on the move too.

“I’m not actually in a rush to go home, O, I got all dressed up so I might as well enjoy one last hurrah.”

Right, because she’d be going back to school probably when Danny did.

Harper had always been a damn good hero in Jason’s books, but she valued her retirement and none of them really wanted to ruin it. Unless, apparently, seven bats just had to stalk Jason’s new friends.

Hood would have apologized, but frankly if she’d said no, some of the others couldn’t have come to the gala to be a pain in his ass.

And then he couldn’t have had so much fun fucking with them.

Fine. One cool fruit basket for the Row household, and some rainbow cupcakes for Cullen. He needed practice on frosting roses anyway.

Although that also reminded him.

“Hey Bluebird, have the others filled you in on Phantom?” He asked, cutting off some more background chatter from Spoiler and Tim.

Nightwing and the girls had had hours by now.

“What, your new boyfriend?” Bluebird asked sweetly, and Hood rolled his eyes.

Probably hit the important shit then.

“Sent you a picture?” He asked instead, decidedly not entertaining that question.

Nightwing and Spoiler snickered. Hood flipped off their general directions, settling himself comfortably on the roof of the library to wait for Black Bat.

There was a short pause, the others now wondering what he was getting at. Good.

“In and out of suit,” Bluebird agreed, curiosity tinging with mild suspicion. Being out of retirement clearly wasn’t good for her.

Hood nodded, pulling out his phone and shooting Harley a quick text. It might be moot now, asking her not to mention Red Hood shit in front of Danny, but he might as well.

He still had to ask if Waylon knew. No reason not to do both, just in case. And see if Tucker knew when he got back.

“I know you’re outta the game, but keep the light show to a minimum if you see him around, okay?” He asked, scanning quickly over the list Danny’d cleared for public discussion.

He didn’t know if Tucker would have mentioned it, but he might as well. Cause of death was good, but Jason personally would veto “and the effects it may have now”.

Because fuck Bruce and his need for everyone to show him their weaknesses.

Bluebird definitely sounded curious now, and possibly like she was punching someone.

“Oh? He not big on the electricity?” She wondered aloud, and Hood grimaced.

Because if they were both at Gotham U in engineering… there was actually a chance Harper and Danny would run into each other.

Danny was older, but Harper skipped a couple years and he had no idea what year Danny was in. Fuck, they might be in the same classes. He couldn’t believe he’d never thought of that.

“Not exactly. You mighta seen him around actually, he’s a techie boy too. But he’s not a fan of the electricity flying around,” he explained, Nightwing making background noises that told Hood he hadn’t put the pieces together either.

Good. At least he wasn’t alone.

Bluebird made an interested hum, and probably a finishing blow considering the satisfaction when she spoke next.

“I thought he looked familiar. But then, he’s total Wayne-bait. Yeah, I can keep the good stuff under wraps if I see him around. Gonna guess he’s had some bad shocks in the line of work?”

Hood hesitated and in exactly the same instant Black Bat landed on the roof. Sam had given them all the warning about talking about a ghost’s death, so he could leave it at that.

But…

The way Danny had looked when he explained about Vlad. Yeah, he’d rather they took this seriously. He didn’t want any of his family to hurt Danny, even by accident.

“It’s how he died. He won’t spontaneously combust or anything, but it’s a bad memory.”

Silence reigned while the others absorbed that particular detail, Black Bat crossing to crouch on the roof beside him. Hood leaned over enough to bump their shoulders together.

He could almost feel concern radiating off her, which was an extra weird experience after literally feeling all of Danny’s emotions half the day.

Guess that was where Cass’s liminality was going. It made sense, kind of; despite her occasional trouble speaking, she was pretty much the clearest communicator in the family.

Having another back up way to make herself heard would only fit.

On a whim, he tried projecting comfort back to her.

—————

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna

[nonagesimus]

Birthday Prompt 1 - Steph and Jason - Narrative Parallels

Prompted by @vvienne

—

“Why weren’t you angry?” Jason asks, one night, sprawled on a rooftop near the marina. “When you came back?”

He’s staring at the stars like they owe him something, but then Steph’s pretty sure he looks at the whole world that way. She’s sitting up, leaning back on her hands, looking at a neon sign down the street that says, ‘Roger’s Hot Basement,’ that she’s already taken note she needs to ask Tim about.

“I was angry,” she said.

His head tips back so he can fix that hungry look on her and she shrugs.

“I don’t think what happened to us was the same, really.”

It’d taken time, after she died, to realise how bad it had really been. Between the drugs, and leaving Gotham, and Leslie being cagier than Steph had ever expected her to be. The full weight of it, the fact that it had been more than just getting hurt really bad, that had hit later. Followed immediately by the thought of that memorial in the Cave, and every word Bruce had ever said about her being too rash, and the fact that maybe he’d been right.

They’ve never had any deep conversations about why Jason did what he did when he came back. She figures part of it was not being remembered the way he wanted too—Honestly she feels like she would’ve been happy being remembered at all.

“Ok, but still,” Jason breaks in through her thoughts. “You never seemed angry.”

“I think you were in prison and didn’t know who I was at the time,” she retorts, which gets a bark of laughter. She cracks her neck idly while she tries to put it into words. “I didn’t—I died peacefully. Kind of. Like I got hurt violently, but I died in the clinic. And Leslie was there, and when I woke up after, Leslie was still there.”

There’s a soft acknowledging noise behind her. It almost sounds sad.

She risks asking, “Did you wake up alone?”

There’s silence so long she thinks he’s not going to say anything. Then, still quiet, “I think the first time. But when I… When I can actually remember. Talia was there.”

She twitches, despite herself. “Damian’s mom?”

“Mm.” Barely an acknowledgement. Not a lot of tone to go on.

But she feels like she knows enough about Damian to make some assumptions. “Probably a different vibe. And Bruce—He’s not my dad like he is yours.”

She’s a little worried it’s going to transition into a full Daddy Issues rant, but when she looks over she just sees Jason’s eyebrows pull together into a frown. “Did you want him to be?”

“Oof.” She winces. “Yes? No? Kind of? He was dead when I came back but I think even if he’d been around, by that point…” She trails off.

Jason’s laugh is drier this time. “Dying kind of takes the shine off it, right?”

“Maybe I just saw how fucked up the rest of you got,” she shoots back.

“Touché.”

There’s silence for a little bit. It feels like the conversation is done, but at the same time Steph can’t help chewing it over. It isn’t really as simple as just, Bruce as her dad or not. As Jason’s dad or not. Maybe the lustre has worn off, but he’s still better than her actual dad. She’s pretty sure Jason could say the same. But just…

She can remember, in Leslie’s clinic, everything fading out, asking Bruce if she’d ever really been Robin, and him saying she had. She can also remember, after she came back, asking if he’d never given her a memorial was because he knew she wasn’t dead, and he’d said yes. She’s pretty sure at least one of those wasn’t true, but she’s never been able to tell when Bruce lies.

She wonders if Jason knows better than she does. Maybe she should ask for tips.

Instead she says, “So, if I did get super mad and want to try out a whole villain turn, do you have any pointers? Things you would’ve done differently, contacts you can recommend?”

Jason grins. “Stop copying me.”

“You wish I was copying you.”

[keepmeinmind-01]

Hi! Imagine a timetravel fic where Theseus travels to the future. Newt has already died of old age (or whatever you want him to die from lol) and it has been one week since the funeral Theseus meets Newt's children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, how do you think that'll go?

Have a nice day!

Okay, so if Newt has died, he’d have probably been like 126 or older because Google doesn’t give me a canon date of death (yippee, our fav magizoologist lives!). So Theseus would be projecting into like the 2020s!! Poor guy.

First of all, I know wizards are a bit quirky, but even so I don’t think you could get away with being straight from the 1920s-1940s (depending on when this happened) without people noticing. With this prompt, I sort of imagined Newt’s extended family having some kind of massive commemoration dinner after the funeral, something upbeat and celebratory after Newt’s lived his long life, with a table laid for thirty, loads of cousins and so on. And then Theseus just appears out of some bushes and is like ummm is this the right address…no okay everyone’s wearing jeans what…

I guess this works best if Theseus does (rip) die at least a generation or two before Newt’s grandkids are born otherwise there’d be the usual time travel chaos that I can never quite wrap my head around. So the general reception is “haha look at that weird guy, he looks a lot like grandpa” and some of the grandkids are like “no he’s just a (modern wizarding cultural reference like idk peaky blinders) cosplayer” very sagely.

Whether it’s accidental or on purpose, at this point, I feel like Theseus is the kind of guy to want this “silly confusion” all cleared up and would produce some kind of speech about who he is, etc. It’d probably take a bit of processing on the family’s part too. And it would be nice to think the brother relationship did get fixed in Theseus’s remaining lifetime, so eventually everyone has a chat among themselves and decide as a group “yes, we think we might know you!”

The next big question: where’s Newt? And there’s the next big answer. Because he’s dead. Then again, when Theseus is given the year, maybe he experiences some bittersweet happiness. After all, 120+ is a decent age to live to for a wizard. And it sounded like Theseus himself didn’t make it for that long, so his little brother was lucky and clearly loved, looking at this assortment of young and not-that-young but certainly young-in-his-eyes people.

He’s a little pissed at himself that he managed to move this far forwards in time and miss the funeral. And then after he’s done being a little frustrated, he gets a bit upset and beats a hasty retreat. Some of the grandkids politely point him inside, maybe to the living room or something where they might still have bits and pieces like flowers and pictures of Newt from the funeral up and give him time to reflect.

The grandchildren scheme together and send one of the great grandchildren in and are like “okay you tell the weird old-fashioned man if he needs…water or something…now that it’s been almost a full day, y’know, all he has to do is ask.” Theseus greets the unfortunate toddler politely but still manages to freak them out because I’d imagine a pre-1950s accent would be pretty scary to 2020s kids lol.

Eventually, he’s coaxed back out and immediately starts trying to (tactfully) extract as much information about Newt that he can. And all these kids! And Tina would be there, maybe, so they could have the most confusing reunion ever. I’m imagining:

Tina: “Pass the potatoes, (great-grandchild).”

Great-grandchild: (obliges) “Ah, this was Great-Grandpa Newt’s favourite recipe…”

Theseus: (literally activates, like imagine eyes light up, eyebrows fully prepped, trying to keep it cool) “Oh, Newt—“ (voice crack) “—Newt, he what? His—his potatoes?”

I guess after some time, he’d have to start assimilating with the extended Scamander clan. It’d be chaos but I think Theseus would be good with kids. Perhaps a little bit “hello teenagers how do you do?” with the older ones, but I think the time-travelling would make him less bossy and prone to lecturing than he might otherwise be.

And I think he’d love to play games with the littler ones. Although I see him as being one of those adults who start off enthusiastically playing, then retreat to the sofa and dryly narrate their participation, then eventually fall asleep and it’s all “NO I WASN’T ACTUALLY ASLEEP” “NO I WAS JUST RESTING MY EYES I PROMISE” “why am I so tired? uhhh it’s been a long week”. And then the parents come back in and he’s being used as a jungle gym while being totally knocked out asleep on the sofa haha.

I think someone like Theseus would probably be having constant existential crises in a time-travelling situation as someone who enjoys routine and their very specific principles and goals. I could imagine him trying to make himself useful to take his mind off it and then getting sucked into doing anything and everything for the Scamanders, which I would imagine could include a lot of chaotic creature care and babysitting. But while I don’t see Theseus as having a knack for creatures, I think having looked after little Newt he’d be pretty good at the other stuff.

But realising that this is a future where Newt lived a long life (without him, even) and died so close to Theseus’s arrival in this weird modern time period would probably always be in the back of his mind. Something like that is hard to process but maybe it hits him hard at the most random times at an almost paralysing level in the middle of things, and the family try and support him as best as they can. I think maybe Theseus would learn to lean into that a little. With some time he’d become a super-affectionate (mysterious relative? young great-grandfather) and be going around giving everyone very sensible well-meaning advice, ruffling hair, hugging, coming up with stupid nicknames, all that jazz :)

[mazegays]

could've followed my fears all the way down

Chapter 16

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17

Minho keeps an eye on both Gally and Thomas. Gally’s having a good time— Anya won't let him drink (she frowns on any of them drinking, but especially when they've been injured recently), but just talking to other people has relaxed him. Thomas is sitting next to Minho, quiet. Normally he's talking, telling stories and seeing who can make up the craziest one. Other nights, he'll lean into him a little, even when it's not that cold. "Something wrong, Thomas?" He nudges him lightly, trying to get him to respond at all. "Nothing you can fix, it's fine, Minho. A tomorrow problem." Thomas doesn't even try to sound like he's not upset. "Thomas, when you said you'd be here, I thought you'd at least be having fun!" Frypan hands Minho a plate, not really giving him a choice in taking it. "I'm enjoying sitting next to Minho." He goes easily when Frypan tugs him up, joining the wider circle of their friends with ease. Minho keeps watching. Something’s up with Thomas, again. It’s unusual for him not to be able to tell what's wrong. Thomas hasn't said anything is wrong, or anything related to anything that might be wrong. He saves some of the food for Thomas and Gally— he knows they'll be going in earlier than everyone else. Gally’s good at hiding it, but moving still causes him a lot of pain. Thomas is watching Gally, too. Every few minutes, his eyes linger, and then refocus on the storyteller of the moment. After another few stories, Thomas comes back to sit next to Minho. "You know you're not exactly subtle, right?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "You've been watching us all night." "You've been watching Gally, too." "Yeah, but I haven't gotten caught. I think he’s reaching his limit for the night." Minho takes the chance to really study Thomas’s face in the light of the fire. He’s got dark circles under his eyes; how many nightmares has he been having? Maybe that’s what's wrong, and Thomas doesn’t want them to be worried when there's not much they can do about it. (It’s never that easy.) Thomas doesn’t linger like he has other nights, leaving as soon as they’re settled. Gally’s already asleep. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

Except Thomas is avoiding them, now, apparently. Their run went fine— neither of them fell, which might actually be their record— and Thomas ate breakfast with them as normal. After breakfast, though? He disappeared. Normally he’ll tell them what he’s doing for the day and promise to come back with lunch. “He probably just had a busy day, Minho. You know how cleanup goes after those fires.” Gally doesn’t seem worried at all. Yeah. They’re fun, but a lot of work the morning after. Minho might be overthinking this. Just a little bit.

He’s proved wrong when Thomas joins them for dinner. “Sorry about lunch, Jorge wanted me to work out an issue with the storage grid. If we can get it hooked to the generator properly it’ll really help.” “Don’t worry about it. There’s a lot to do around here.” Gally says, and Thomas immediately relaxes. He’d really thought they’d be mad at him. “What’s the plan for tomorrow, then?” Minho asks, hoping to distract him. “Probably more of that, honestly. It didn’t go so well today.” “You’ll figure it out, shank.” “Maybe.” Thomas won’t say anything else about it, and he leaves earlier than usual. “He must be really upset about not fixing that grid.” Gally at least looks worried now. Minho doesn’t think that’s it. Sure, the grid is important, but they have the limited power they need. It’s not something that needs to be done immediately. “Do you think he’s going out again? Taking the Flat-Trans?” “No. I don’t think he wants to, and it’d just be stupid of him not to tell us.” finish on ao3 or continue reading

He wants to feel guilty about pushing them away, but he can’t. It’s for their sake. They’ll be better off without him around. It will only take a few days for them to realize that, and then when he gets back, they’ll have figured out a way to tell him nicely. He almost wants to ask for something that will take him back to the ruins, but Anya isn’t letting him go there any time soon, and she’ll probably tell Minho and Gally, who really don’t need to know about it. “Hey, Jorge. How would you feel about me scouting out the forest more? We’ve got everything nearby handled, but even on my runs I’ve noticed things we’ve missed. I could take a week or so, head deeper in, and see what we’re missing.” “This is why we listen to you kids. You think of everything.” Only when he’s trying to. “Minho, I won’t be able to run tomorrow. I’m leaving with a scouting group before sunrise.” “You’re going back again?” Minho looks ready to physically keep him here. “No, just in the woods.” “Who’s going with you?” “Sonya and Aris.” For the first half of the trip, anyway. He knows going alone is stupid, but as much as he likes Sonya, she knows something’s up with him, Gally, and Minho. She’ll ask, and he’ll tell her everything. Thomas doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t want her to try and advise him, and he definitely doesn’t want her telling Minho and Gally anything. So he’s just going to think about it, and with Aris there, Sonya will probably leave it alone. <;- 15 17 ->

[verlaines-corner-archive]

Haiiii how are you? :3 I just got a bit of an angsty idea and I'd like to share it with you hehe

So you remember karma? The kid that fyodor ("freed") killed after he got kidnapped by ace? Well what if karma was actually your long lost little brother?

One day when you were younger, your little brother got kidnapped by some ability users and then got sold to a slave dealer. You and your family tried everything you could to find him, but even after years of desperate research you couldn't find him anywhere. Then you met fyodor and joined him in his goal to get rid of ability users, because your little brother had been kidnapped by ability users and you wanted to get your revenge on them.

Now it's the present and you're on your way towards ace's ship to pick up fyodor from his mission. You go down to the ship's basement and find him waiting for you sitting at ace's table. Inside the room you notice a corpse on the ground and ace's lifeless body dangling from the ceiling. Fyodor proudly tells you that the mission went smoothly and explains how he did it, but for some reason your attention is directed at the corpse on the ground. It looks like a kid, and the particular hair colour looks familiar to you. Fyodor notices you aren't paying attention to him and stops talking, curious to know what your intentions are when you kneel down to inspect the corpse from up close. When you see that X shaped scar on the corpse's cheek it all suddenly clicks in your mind and you realize that that's your little brother. The brother that got kidnapped years ago and that you thought had died was actually alive and under ace's command all this time, but now that you had finally found him it was too late because he had been killed by none other than fyodor, your lover. Did he know that this was your long lost brother that you had talked to him about many times? Or did he kill him thinking that this was just a random kid enslaved by ace? Whatever the answer may be, the situation doesn't change: your brother had died by the hand of your lover

- 💍

Anon you are so fucking mean I love this

I can’t even imagine what it’d be like in that situation. Having your trust betrayed like this, even if unintentionally. I don’t think Fyodor would kill Karma if he knew he was your brother, not really. If that was the case he’d probably see if you could talk Karma into joining cause I don’t really think Fyodor wanted to kill him to begin with. 

That’s such an emotionally wrecking situation. On one hand you love and trust Fyodor, but on the other that’s your brother who you’ve put years into looking for. You’d be pissed off, scared, or maybe just numb, unsure how to process it. Maybe all of them.

I don’t think Fyodor would know how to process it either. This is off plan, this is damage done to someone he cares about, damage he’s done. He doesn’t know how to comfort you, doesn’t really know what you’re thinking, and I think that scares him. He never wanted to hurt you and now he runs the risk of loosing you as well. Gah the whole situation is so fucked :(

I do think you two could recover from this though. There might always be a bit of angst there, but I think things could go back to normal. Fyodor would definitely try to find a way to fix things, to show that he’s genuinely sorry.

[finelinevogue]

the fact that Y/N has post natal depression Is somewhat refreshing idk I just don't see it talked about much on here and if it is it's like Hella angsty and the partner doesn't understand what it is but I was wondering if u could touch on it a bit more cause it's something I'm really scared about happening to me and I just want harry to hold me and tell me it's going be okay 😚😚😚😚

P.s. if u don't wanna it's understandable

anon: can u write about harry helping y/n through her ppd maybe like the 3rd time was so bad that h decide that he won’t be having more children

so this was requested twice so i would love to be able to write this for you both, hope this is okay - mind it’s heavily angsty!;

tw: vomiting, ppd and od

oli - 4, felix - 3, belle - 12 weeks

Motherhood was really fucking hard.

The birth of your newly born daughter, Isabella, had really taken a back pedal on your mental health. You had suffered with post natal depression after the birth of your two sons, but nothing as bad as this.

It had hit you around the 7 week mark after giving birth. The pregnancy itself was okay, even though she was slightly premature, but it was after you’d taken her home that it’d all spiralled downhill. It started with complications with her breastfeeding - like she was rejecting the milk that you had produced. It hurt to see her reject you and your body, finding more comfort in drinking from a pre-made milk bottle as her dad rocked her to sleep. You recall the evening so clearly and felt like an utter failure as you watched her drink a bottle of formula for the first time.

“Ssh ssh,” Harry cooed to your 7 week old daughter as he rocked her in his arms on the rocking chair in her nursery. She was whining because she was hungry, but the problem was that she wasn’t accepting your milk. She hadn’t been accepting your milk all day and now it was becoming dangerous for you to keep on saying ‘Oh i’ll just try later.’ Harry had told you to make a formula bottle for her. “Mummy’s coming.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you were walking back to the nursery with a warm bottle in your hands. You’d tested it on your hand to make sure it wasn’t too hot and then taken a sip to taste it, out of jealousy, and you thought that it didn’t taste any different to you. Then again you’re not a 7 week old human whose only date is milk.

“Look here’s mummy with your yummy milk, okay? Look Belles!” Harry cooed at his darling angel and you only wished he wasn’t as happy for her as he was.

“Yeah.” You spoke softly, handing him the bottle and standing nearby, part of you hoping that she would reject this too and she wasn’t just rejecting you.

But no, she drank the formula like it was her last meal.

“Such a sweet girl, aren’t you?” Harry praised her, watching her in awe as she kept on drinking the formula. Watching as she was drinking to become the strong girl you knew she’d become. It just hurt that it wasn’t you that could help her become that.

You felt powerless. Worthless, even. The one thing that you had carried the weight of your breasts around to do and you couldn’t even do it. Your nipples were so sore and your breasts ached so badly and it was all for nothing. Perhaps it was punishment for being such a bad mum. Perhaps you’d never been good enough for this job and it was your bodies way of shutting you down forever. You wouldn’t need the ability to produce milk anymore, because you weren’t worth the title of becoming one again. You wanted to be happy for your little one, seeing her happy but all you felt was rejection and sadness. She didn’t think you were good enough to be her mum and that really hurt.

Along with the breastmilk problem, Belle also became very stubborn when you wanted to change her nappy. Anytime you tried to change and help her she put up a fuss, kicking her legs and sometimes she would bite or hit you away. It was just a reminder that you weren’t a good enough mum for her and that she didn’t feel safe enough around you. She didn’t find comfort in your presence and she was so fussy about what you did around her. With Harry, though, she was an angel. She loved him so much and obviously he made her feel so loved and safe - something you’d clearly never be able to give her.

There was also the chores of being a mother to your other two sons too. Oli and Felix were old enough to understand that they had a baby sister, but they weren’t old enough to understand how miserable you were. Harry wasn’t even able to figure it out yet. You tried your best to put on your bravest face, knowing that your family needed you to be strong but the truth was that you were crumbling on the inside. You were feeling less and less like yourself and you were waiting for the moment when you’d completely fall apart. Nothing felt right anymore. Everything was just numb.

“You two boys okay?”

You walked into the children’s playroom see that they were sat at the little table colouring in. Felix’s little legs dangled slightly, whereas Oli’s legs touched the floor and it made your heart swell at how big they were both getting.

“Yep!” Oli cheered, scribbling with his left hand as his tiny tongue stuck out from his lips as he concentrated - a habit passed onto him from his father.

“What are you both drawing?” You asked, coming over and kneeling on the floor beside them and having a peek at their drawings.

“We’re colouring for daddy.” Felix answered, some of the words not being pronounced properly due to his young lisp and lack of being taught how to say things correctly yet.

His words stung though. You appreciated that he was only a toddler and he meant nothing evil or malicious by it, but it hurt to think that maybe, just maybe, your sons were doing this for their dad because he did so much more for them than you did. Of course you tried to be the best mum you could, but maybe you weren’t doing enough. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a mum after all, or at least not a good one.

“O-oh,” you tried to hold back the tears in your eyes because your boys looked so proud at their artwork - and you should be too. “Tell me about them then, my loves.”

Oli went first, “So this is me and this is Oli and this is dad. It’s us playing football like we did the other day, mummy.” He pointed out to each of the figures, some looking actually quite terrifying but you’d never have the heart to tell him that. The figures were all holding hands though and it hurt to think that you weren’t a part of that.

“Oh that’s so good Ols!” you rubbed his head of hair and then turned to Felix’s, “What about you Fix?”

“I drew daddy as the best.” He pointed to a trophy that the figure - more like a stick-man-slenderman - was holding, which was decorated with the award of ‘my hero’.

“I told him to write hero, mummy.” Oli added, and you smiled at both of them.

“Well done. Good job both of you. Daddy will love these!” You only wished that they would draw something for you. You hated to think that you were being petty, but honestly you just wanted to feel loved. “Shall I go cut up some apple for a snack, hey?” You asked, trying to feel useful.

“Daddy is making us smoothies!” Felix answered and you had to stand up, up and away from their heigh, so they didn’t catch the tears in your eyes.

“Okay! Don’t forget to give him those pictures - he’ll love those.” You praised them and they both giggled to each other.

The sight of your sons laughing should’ve made you so happy, but it only reminded you that you weren’t the source of their happiness. You weren’t on their mind enough to be their inspiration for drawings. You definitely weren’t their hero. You were just a woman to them, not a mum. You wanted to be so much more but it was clear that they didn’t need you. They were loved by their dad and each other, not in need of your heart.

Eventually Belle settled down and was sleeping better through the night, leaving you and Harry to much more peaceful nights sleep. Well, just Harry.

You had found it near impossible to get to sleep now. You lay awake at night wondering when Belle would next wake up, wondering when she’d next need you. Harry was always quick out of bed though, even if he actually was sleeping, to help her ordering you to stay in bed and rest yourself. You couldn’t help feel like he was telling you to stay put because he knew you wouldn’t be able to do your job properly - and you started to believe him.

You’d found yourself getting jealous of those that could get to sleep. When you were walking down the road you’d judge a person by how much sleep they looked like they got last night. You definitely looked like you only had 2 hours - even when you’d only had 37 minutes but who’s counting? Your dark circles were heavily noticeable, but no one cared enough to ask. Even Harry stayed clear of you more and more often; spending more time with the kids than you and sleeping on his side of the bed instead of yours at nighttime.

There had been one evening where you had been so restless that Harry had gotten so frustrated and left the room, with a blanket and a pillow, and slept on the couch. You’d never felt so much like a burden than that night. Your family was rejecting you and you felt like a failure. You were a success at failing in everything. The meals you cooked went half eaten by everyone because you would’ve forgotten to add a key ingredient. The children preferred to spend more time playing with their dad because you weren’t energised enough to play the games they wanted to. Your daughter still rejected your milk. It was all too much and you just wanted one nights peace for it to change.

Last night had been that night.

Fuck these were so addicting. You were finally getting the sleep that you so badly craved, only with the help of tablets.

You wanted the sleep because that was the one place you could escape to. You needed that escape to help you get out of bed the next morning. Life was too hard for you to not dream, and without dreaming you didn’t want life.

It started off with taking one every night before bed, but then they stopped working again, so you started taking two, then three. Four was obviously where your body hit its limit.

“Mummy? Can you come tuck me in please?” Oli asked, little toy giraffe in hand and shaking you in hopes of waking you up to send him peacefully off to sleep.

You’d gone to bed a bit earlier tonight, lying saying that you were extremely exhausted. Harry said he would be able to handle things and that’s when you excitedly ran upstairs to take your pills; 4 of them. You’d made it into your bed, feeling slightly drowsy after completing your nighttime routine, but then you started to feel unwell and really ill. Before you’d passed out you’d stuck your fingers down your throat in hopes to make the feeling in your stomach disappear, but it ended up you throwing up all over the bed and pass out right there.

“Mummy! Wake up!” Oli rattled your back, but you were still unresponsive.

Oli padded out of the room and down to his sisters room where he knew his dad was. Belle was being extra fussy this evening and Harry suspected it had everything to do with you retiring early. He heard Oli come into the room just as he’d gotten Belle down.

“Y’alright buddy?” Harry whispered, tip-toeing out of Belle’s room, leaving the door open slightly, and crouched down in front of him.

“No. Mummy’s not waking up.” Oli pouted, rubbing a tired fist over his eye.

“She’s probably in dreamland, bud. She was really tired today.”

“She’s really tired all of the times.”

“I know, Ol.” Because Harry did know, but he was too much of a coward to face up to the problem. The doctors had said that post natal depression can strengthen with every birthed child, but he was too blind sighted by the fact that you’d overcome the first birthed post natal depression so quickly, and was so in love with his baby girl, that he didn’t truly see how bad things had gotten. Harry had tried giving you some space, distancing himself from you in bed and spending more time with the kids so you could relax and rest up, but nothing seemed to be working. He was surprised, actually, that you’d been having better sleep recently and so was hopeful that maybe the worst of the depression was over.

Hell, was he so wrong.

“Go to bed, bud okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Wake mummy up so she can give me a kiss.”

“I’ll try little man, alright?” Harry scuffed his sons hair and then watched him walk off to his room.

Harry walked into your dark room, the air smelling slightly sour, and walked around to your side of the bed. He sat down next to you sighed heavily. He needed to speak to you, no matter how tired or angry you’d be with him. He was losing you as a wife and a mother and a soulmate and a lover. He was just losing you, just as you were losing yourself and he was doing tip-toeing around the problem any longer. He was going to try and make this better. He was going to better understand how you were feeling in order to help you.

“Baby?” He spoke softly, nudging you gently, “Baby wake up.” No response. “Y/N, my love? Wake up for me darling, need to speak with you.” Normally you would’ve stirred by now but there was still nothing. “Y/N?” Harry shook you a bit more urgently now - one that would surely wake even the deepest of sleepers. “Y/N!” He shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly for the comfort of his children.

He turned you over and that’s when he knew this was very, very, bad.

Your face was pale grey and your mouth was covered in the remains of vomit, and he suddenly understood the gross sour smell from before. Your hair was greasy and stuck all in the wet sick all over your face. Your eyes were puffy from the remains of tears. You looked dead.

“No, no, no. Y/N! No you don’t.” Harry’s eyes starting weeping and he couldn’t think straight. He checked your pulse on your wrist and timed it - it was unhealthily faint. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were in your last beats of your heart. His tears and sobs were uncontrollable, but he had to be both strong for you and his children, as well as for him. “Fuck sake pull yourself together Harry. Okay, baby hold on please. Okay? You don’t get to leave me like this, you hear me? I love you so much, baby. Fuck i’m so sorry.” He gently placed your head back down on the pillow and pulled out his phone.

999

“What’s your emergency?”

“I need a-an ambulance p-please. I-I think my wife i-is dying.”

The rest of it was a blur for Harry. Him trying to wake you up. The ambulance arriving. Oli and Felix crying when they saw you being carried away on a stretcher. Belle’s deafening screams. Harry’s heart beating for the both of you.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was the rhythmic beeping sounds that woke you up.

Your whole body felt achey and sore, your head a pounding mess. You opened your eyes slowly, adjusting them to the light of the room. You expected to see the family photo on the wall opposite you and the white of your curtains, but you were met with a heart-monitor machine and a hospital bed instead. You looked down at your body and noticed a cannula in your arm, making you squirm because you hated stuff like that so much. Your nose had a tube running inside it too, feeding you the oxygen your lungs weren’t receiving properly.

It then dawned on you how you weren’t in the room alone. You saw a sleeping Anne and Gemma on the chairs in the far corner, with Felix and Oli tucked against their sides - Anne with Oli and Felix with Gemma. It was so cute to see them so cuddled up close. They looked peaceful. You took note of the baby pram that was at the end of your bed, most likely playing bed to your beautiful daughter. Your mind felt lost. You can’t really remember what had happened, apart from taking four of those sleeping pills. You fully remember the weight of feeling worthless and useless as both a mum and a wife, though, and that feeling was still very prominent.

Your eyes lastly landed to the side of you, where Harry was sat but also laid on your bed. The top of half of his body laid upon the bed, his head buried onto this arm deep within the bed, whilst his bottom stayed rooted to the chair. His hand was holding yours tightly, which was a sign that he wasn’t asleep. You were so scared to face him though. You had failed him, again and again and you weren’t sure whether you could be enough for him anymore. Enough for your family anymore.

You squeezed his hand three times saying ‘I love you.’

“Y/N,” He whispered so hoarsely, but you were so focused on him to even catch it. He looked ruined, and you’d done that to him. His eyes were dark and tired, but also red and puffy from where he’d been crying. His hair was a mess and you could tell it hadn’t been washed in a while. How long had you been out for? You felt rested in your sleep, but not in your mind or your heart.

“I—” Your breathe got caught in your throat, but you persevered to finish your words. He deserved to here them. “I’m sorry.” You were whispering so you didn’t disturb anyone else in the room.

“No, stop it. I’m sorry baby.”

“Harry don’t, you don’t have anyt—”

“Stop yes I do I—”

“Harry please you don’t owe—”

“Y/N listen!” He cut the little volley-conversation and ordered you to just stop. You started crying when you saw that he was too. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now. Because I love you. Fuck, I do. I love you so much that when I found you unconscious in a pile of your own sick thinking you were dead, my only thought was that I wished it were me instead”.

“Harry, you don’t mean—”

“My god Y/N! You don’t get it, do you? I would do anything to switch places with you right now. I would suffer a thousand times over if it meant you were okay. I’d suffer in hell for you. Nobody else but you has ever made me feel like this. I married you because I love you and I want to wake up next to you every day of my beating hearts life. I chose to have children with you, because I knew how great of a mum you’d be and what beautiful people you’d help bring up into the world—”

“But i’m not.” You cut Harry short, trying to pull your hand away from him but he didn’t let you - only tightening his grip and pulling himself closer towards you. He was so close you could kiss him.

“Not what?” He asked, although he already knew the answer. You’d both had this conversation before, but you were both tired of it and were ready for it to be your last now.

“A good mum. I’m- i’m not a good mum or wife, Harry and i’m sorry.”

“I told you not say it and stop thinking it, because you’re completely wrong Y/N. You’re a good mother and a good wife, because you are a good person.”

“But i’m not great.” You whimpered, thinking back to the drawings your Oli and Felix had done. “I’m not the best.”

“But you don’t have to be, baby. You see our beautiful, healthy, happy and safe babies over there?” Harry turned to look at them, love in his eyes as in yours. “They wouldn’t be all those things, no matter how you feel about yourself, without you. I could never have brought them up to be half the people they are without you by my side, the way you make me a better person. You claim you don’t got this, but baby you’re already doing it and have been doing it for 5 years with our children and so much longer with me.”

“I’m just so fucked up Harry.” Your head tilted back on the pillow as you got heavily emotional over the situation.

Harry shook his head and moved his hand to cup the back of your neck, moving your head forwards until it met his. The touch of his skin against yours, no matter where and how small, made you feel alive and you’d missed him and that feeling so much. You missed loving him so much.

“Listen to me.” He ordered, keeping you still. “You are strong and you are brave Y/N Styles. No matter what you tell yourself I will be here every goddamn day of my life, if I have to, to remind you that you are worth more than your fucking weight in gold. You are my heart. You are my soul and the mother to my greatest achievements. I know they are yours too, just as I know I am your heart.

“You are.” You whispered so quietly under your breathe, but Harrys heart warmed when he caught you saying it. He knew though.

“Just let me love you. Let me be there for you. If you want medication then let’s do it, and i’ll be there for every step of the way. If you want to go to a rehabilitation centre for a bit, that’s okay we can—”

You shook your head and licked the tears away from your face. You were both such tearful messes, but the love between you was undeniable. “No, no please, no.”

“Okay, okay, love. We won’t. See, you’re okay. I promise, you’re okay. Stay with me, yeah? I’ll love you and keep you safe, just as you will me.”

“Promise.” You told him sincerely. He brought his lips to yours with that single word. He was so proud of your for being so brave and strong. He wishes he was half the person you were. His lips conveyed those thoughts of his and you could taste the love and passion burning through his heart and out on to his lips. He tasted like home. z he was home. Your lips smacked together messily, but you didn’t care because you loved each other too much and had kissed each other even more. Once you pulled back he stayed close to you, smiling at you with such awe. “I think.. I think I want to try medication please.”

Harry didn’t say ‘okay’ or ‘sure thing’, no. He said four words that meant more to you in that moment that any others in the universe. More than saying ‘I love you.’ Words that reminded you that not everything is okay and that sucks really bad, but you’re doing your best to get through it. It was a reminder that you had so many people who loved you and cared for you. It was a gun at the starting line symbolising that the journey ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but worth it.

“I’m proud of you.”

[redorich]

to those who carried on

A fic for @petrichormeraki​ and their Hermit!Tommy AU.

-------

The hermits know Tommy as a quiet young man who is very sad and contemplative. The more time they spend with him (against his will, but they know he needs the company) the more they learn of the little details. His favorite block is cobblestone, he likes building towers, and apparently his favorite woman is the Queen. They don’t ask why he wears a smiley mask even though he never seems happy. They don’t ask why he hides important things in his ender chest. They don’t ask why he wears a shattered compass on a chain about his neck.

(Once, he died in lava and lost his absolute mind. He was so upset about the compass that he didn’t even mention the stack and a half of diamond ore he had on him. Xisuma ended up manually rolling back the server just so Tommy could have it back.)

As time goes on, the tremors in Tommy's hands grow lesser. His dull blond hair seems a bit brighter, his bruises fade quicker, he doesn’t look quite so skinny-- he spends his time serenely building, resource gathering instead of running and fighting. He has a sense of humor under all that trauma, which the hermits unfortunately find out after another massive-scale prank war thought to be instigated by Grian actually turns out to be Tommy's fault.

Tommy starts swearing more. Doc gets the stink eye from Stress for this, but Doc insists he’s never once sworn around the young man. (That’s an absolute lie, but it wasn’t anything Tommy hadn’t heard before. Tommy thinks Doc is remarkably unoriginal in his cursing. He does take note of the German ones, though.)

Inviting Tommy to PvP minigames can be touchy, they learn. He likes to fight, but he fights like an animal with nothing to lose. Grian once chanted, “It stays in the pit!” and everyone present had to spend the next five minutes wrangling Tommy’s soul back into his body from wherever it’d floated off to.

Tommy likes to glide with his elytra. He claims he’s never had one before, but he flies like such a natural that a few people have their doubts. On a dark desert night, with dark blue eyes watching the night sky, he confides to Cub that it reminds him of the way his dad used to fly. He hates rockets, though. He does not confide to Cub that it reminds him of what his brother did to his best friend. He says enough that Cub can guess, though.

Scar gets fed up with Tommy’s creeper holes and makes Tommy help him fix them. At first, Tommy has no clue why Scar is breaking out things like coarse dirt and birch leaves and making the ground all fancy, but he’s not afraid of a little hard work and Scar makes it fun. He learns a lot about terraforming that day, and awkwardly comes back a few days later asking if Scar needs any more help terraforming. Tommy still hasn’t built a real base, not by Hermitcraft standards, but the small hill he’s built his dirt hut near now has a very beautiful, if amateurish, waterfall. He doesn’t tell Scar about this, but Scar finds out anyway. Tommy wakes up one morning to find that someone has left a shulker box in his house. Instead of iron-gripped paranoia, he just feels wonder that someone would give him a gift-- to the hermits, a single shulker box is nothing. To Tommy, it’s everything.

The shulker box contains coarse dirt, birch leaves, and a silk touch shovel.

Tommy helps Xisuma mine a giant hole in the ground near bedrock, because he realizes that he’s never thanked the admin for getting him his compass back. Well, that and the fact that instamining with a haste two beacon and an efficiency five pickaxe is a novelty. Xisuma lets him keep the cobble, since everyone knows it’s Tommy’s favorite block, but also insists he keep some of the other blocks like andesite and diorite. He pats Tommy on the head and tells him to talk to Bdubs about building a house some time. Tommy nods. He's taken aback by how tall Xisuma is, completely contrasting his mild nature. He reminds Tommy of Wilbur, on one of his good days before... Before. Not Ghostbur, though-- the admin is much too alive.

Tommy waits too long, so eventually Bdubs comes to him. The man is silly and outrageous, playing everything for laughs and unexpectedly tender. Bdubs plays up how beautiful he thinks Tommy’s hideous dirt shack is, then offers to help him build a house that’s better. For Tommy, building a house means settling down, accepting that this is his home now. Bdubs doesn’t know this. Tommy builds cobblestone dicks while Bdubs tries to lecture him about depth and block variation. Nothing gets done and Bdubs feels like he might have failed, but come next week Bdubs is flying over the area and sees the dicks are gone; so is the dirt house. In its place is a spruce-and-cobble cottage nestled near the tiny waterfall. Off to the side, he’s made a cozy doghouse for his fox, Theo. Bdubs doesn’t know how close that fox came to being named Fundy.

He spars with False, and she very pointedly does not mention how his stances are uniquely suited to a piglin. There’s only one renowned fighter who’s a piglin, after all. It's Tommy’s story to tell, if he ever does, why he’s seen enough of the legendary Technoblade’s fights to pick up on his stances, yet he’s not experienced enough to know that they don’t suit him. Instead, False gives him different stances suited more for tall, skinny people like the two of them. She’s got blond hair and blue eyes just like him. (Not that she’d know. She’s never seen his eyes, hidden behind his mask as they are.) Every now and then, he imagines her as an older sister, and the one time he says so, she smiles. When Tommy’s at home, looking at his own distorted reflection in his waterfall (he’s improved it since he built it), he muses that their eyes aren’t the same, their hair colors are subtly off. It’s close enough, he thinks.

Stress dies from fall damage and Tommy goes out of his way to pick up her stuff, because the hermits do these things out of the kindness of their hearts. The thought never even crosses their minds to steal. It crosses his mind. He doesn’t do it. Stealing from Stress would be like stealing from Niki.

He shows up at Cleo’s base unannounced and demands to see the “cool shit”. He is appropriately enthused by the giant armor-stand-bugs. She tries teaching him her armor stand magic, but it doesn’t really sink in. It’s okay, she assures him, most people don’t have the knack for it. He does, however, learn that buttons make excellent decorations. He also learns how to braid hair, bribed by ice cream. He is terrible at it, to the point where Joe has to come by to help the two untangle her hair so Tommy can start again. Watching the two bicker over capitalism and six million armor stands and a whole host of other inside jokes he doesn’t get, he thinks he’s starting to understand what friendship is supposed to be like. Joe and Cleo don’t see him clutching his compass. He and Tubbo weren’t too far off from this, given their circumstances. Maybe...

Maybe Tubbo can be forgiven.

Tommy makes minigames of his own, ones that don’t just kill you and steal your stuff. He builds things that are pretty instead of just functional, brews potions with Stress and only calls them drugs once (again, upsetting her is like upsetting Niki. Best not done), and sets up chicken bombs above people’s bases instead of just lavacasting them. (As Grian saw the hundreds of chickens slowly raining down upon his mansion, he got such a peculiar look on his face that Tommy feared he’d fucked up. The shorter, stronger (much stronger oh god why is he so strong despite being so small) man nearly crushed Tommy’s lungs in a hug, proclaiming how proud he was of Tommy. Tommy was proud of himself for not accidentally murdering Grian out of reflex. Was this what healing was like?)

Yes. It is what healing is like. Tommy knows this because that wound gets ripped open again. Tango shows him how to build the most obnoxious redstone-powered noise machine the two can think of. Tango digs a small pit, and asks Tommy to throw down his axe. Suddenly, Tommy’s in Logstedshire again; it’s not Tango asking, it’s Dream. His hands don’t shake when he tosses his axe into the pit, followed by his sword and his armor. It isn't until he’s placed the TNT down that Tango grabs his wrist and asks him what he’s doing. Tommy’s eyes clear enough that he can see past the blond hair and freckles. Tango isn’t green, he’s red. He's shorter than Dream, and his worried eyes are unhidden. Tommy shudders, then tells Tango everything.

Tango has no pity for Tommy, just understanding and sympathy. He doesn’t push Tommy to talk about it, but when Tommy’s done telling his story, Impulse and Zedaph show up. They all pretend that Tommy’s voice isn’t hoarse, that they all didn’t conveniently happen to look away when Tommy took off his mask just long enough to wipe his eyes. The men bake a cake together, fool around with honey blocks, and don’t talk about it.

Tommy knows very little about redstone, considers himself more of a builder and a fighter than an engineer. Still, Mumbo’s living base is inspiring, and Tommy often hangs around the man’s industrial district just to watch Mumbo work. Mumbo knows that Tommy hasn’t purchased a day pass, but it’s nice having someone around to talk to while he works. It’s not like Tommy is stealing anything. (Tommy totally steals from Mumbo’s industrial district storage system. The man’s farms are so efficient that he doesn’t even notice, so Tommy assumes it’s fine. What Mumbo doesn’t know won’t hurt him.)

Lava still isn’t his favorite thing in the world. He stays far away from it, instead of imagining what it would be like to hurtle towards it. Ren doesn’t really notice this, but he does notice that Tommy doesn’t seem to like his mustafarian base. On a spur-of-the-moment whim, Ren whips up some absurd plotline in which he is a lone weary traveller seeking refuge at Tommy’s base from strange alien overlords. The two have fun together, and the young man cracks more absurd jokes about it than the hermits have ever seen him do. When Ren leaves a week later to return to his own base, Tommy keeps being absurd, if a bit more subdued without someone to play off of. He builds a shrine to the “prime log”, which grows more elaborate each day. Beef and xB pretend to be his acolytes, despite having no clue what a “twitch prime” is.

They can’t see his face, but the smile in his voice is a far cry from the despondency he once wore like a heavy cloak. He is so much more animated and alive, full of motivation. He builds an entire island in three days, and hand-delivers an invitation to each and every hermit for his beach party. Everyone shows up, even those with packed schedules (Iskall) and those with introverted tendencies (Etho). Tommy is nearly moved to tears when they show up in groups of twos and threes, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to come. There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, but there is more than enough cake to go around. Tango brings drinks, Impulse brings meat to barbecue, and Zedaph makes an elaborate jump-powered grill. Keralis brings way too much confetti and several handfuls of cheap, obnoxious party noisemakers. Stress brings Tommy a crown made out of alliums. It shines far less than his brother’s gold crown, and it’ll die in a few days, but he wears it all night and keeps it in his ender chest until it withers away.

He spends five days teaching himself to make flower crowns. Even his best attempt is awful, nowhere near as pretty as the crowns Stress makes, but when he gives it to her, she takes off the one she was wearing and wears his until it falls apart.

He dies fighting a creeper on Grian’s behalf, and doesn’t even panic, because he trusts that however many times he dies, no matter how stupid or ignominious or revolutionary or important, Xisuma will always let him respawn.

He spends a grand total of nine diamonds to buy a single plot of land in the shopping district. He builds a cute little bench facing the sunset, with warmly glowing street lights on either side and a small garden. At the end of the bench he places a jukebox, and buys every single disc that Beef’s music shop sells, including Pigstep. He sits on the bench while Mellohi plays and watches the tiny silhouettes of his friends flying in the evening sky. Tommy looks alone on that bench, even if he seems happy, so sometimes other people stop by to sit with him. Scar declares the bench area a public park, since everyone likes it so much, and refunds Tommy his nine diamonds straight from the throne.

[saintshigaraki]

HERE, IN THE MORNING LIGHT, IS WHERE WE’LL BARE OUR SOULS

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader 

words: 3.2k

excerpt: Really, how many times can you blame Ushijima for breaking your heart when you’re the one who can’t seem to stop handing it to him -- on a silver fucking platter no less. 

a/n: this is...a bit too similar to my bakugou drabble i’ll admit. but i could see a relationship with ushijima having some of the same problems. he’s not purposely cruel, but god, doesn’t that just make it so much worse?

tags: angst, mentions of alcohol, implied sex, reader is full of rage, ambiguous/open ending

in case you want to read it on ao3!

You greet Toshi at the door, as you’ve made a habit of doing when he manages to come home before you’ve fallen asleep.

(Like a well-trained dog, you think, with only the most bitter sort of amusement.) 

When you lift your hand up to cup his face, a sweet hello, love, how was your day? on your lips, he sweeps it aside (gently, of course. He's always so sickeningly gentle when he brushes you aside. You think that might just make the hollow sting of his nonchalant rejection that much worse.)

“Have you made anything for dinner?” he asks, already walking away before you have a chance to pull him down for a kiss. Your arm falls unceremoniously at your side. A deadweight, swinging. 

I think I might hate you, you want to say, so,  so badly. The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue as you stand frozen in the darkened entryway, his shadow stretches, eclipsing you, as he walks further and further away.

But these moments of sweet burning-hot rage pass as quickly as they come and soon -- too soon, maybe, or not soon enough -- you find yourself turning on your heels and shining a too-bright smile, the one that shows too many teeth and leaves an ache in your cheeks. 

“Not yet, love, but I can whip up something real quick.” 

The words taste like lead in your mouth.

(Or maybe that's just the blood from biting your tongue.)

Who knows, you muse, bitterly, bitingly. What does it matter anyway? 

You make your way towards the kitchen.

+

Later that night, after he’s finished fucking you into the mattress, he grunts out an I love you, before rolling over and promptly falling asleep. 

His cum is sticky and uncomfortable as it cools on your burning thighs. 

You stare at the lights sweeping across the ceiling from the passing cars and try to remember days when you didn’t feel as though someone had hollowed out everything that made you and filled in the empty space with barely contained rage. 

Rationally, you know you weren’t always so unhappy with Ushijima. You loved him -- you still do -- you have for years. You could barely contain your tears of joy when he asked you to marry him and you didn’t manage to contain them at all the day you officially tied the knot. 

You were so happy then. So, so, happy. 

What happened? 

(You know exactly what happened.)

You’ve made sacrifice after sacrifice for him. Moved from country to country. Left your family and friends behind more times than you can count. Because you love Toshi. Because you love him more than anything. And because he loves you, though you know he doesn’t love you more than anything. It’s a selfish gripe to have. A rather dumb one too. Of course he doesn’t love you more than volleyball. Why should he? He’s dedicated his whole life to the sport. Countless hours, countless injuries, and setbacks, and he’s persevered through it all because that's what he does. Because that sport, that court, that stupid fucking ball, is what he loves above all else. 

It’s not as if you jumped into this marriage wholly and totally blind. You’re not dumb. You knew volleyball was going to be a priority in his life,  the priority. And you thought you could handle that. You did handle it. For 5 years you’ve handled it, the constant moving, the last minute canceled plans, the weeks of him traveling that have left you all alone for near months at a time in a cold home with a cold bed. You’ve handled it all with a too-wide smile plastered painfully across your face. 

But things have -- shifted, recently. Maybe it’s the pressure of what could very well be his last Olympics coming up in these next few years, maybe it’s the fear of someone younger, better, stronger than him taking his place, or maybe, he simply doesn’t give all that much of a  fuck about you anymore. 

(You know that’s not true. Wakatoshi loves you. You know that. Which is what makes this all so much worse.)

I love you, isn’t that enough? he’d said bluntly, and maybe a bit confused, last time you brought up your concerns after the third canceled date in a row. 

His words had made you pause. Was it enough? Why isn’t it enough? Shouldn’t it be enough?

At the time, you’d thought, maybe. Maybe I can make it enough. 

A year later and you’ve come to the realization that it simply -- isn’t enough. Maybe if you were a different person, a slightly better person, it’d be enough. But you’re not. You’re you, a strange, toxic concoction of hollow fury and selfish desires (for comfort, for love, for anything more than whatever this is).

You roll over on your side to face your husband. He’s on his back, like he always is when he sleeps, completely dead to the world. 

He’s statuesque, unmovable, untouchable, even now. 

You gently brush your finger over his brow, sweeping his hair to the side, and tracing his strong jawline. You’ve done this a thousand times. You’ve memorized every curve, every freckle, every scar. You’ve mapped countless constellations across his skin. 

You don’t hate him, you realize, in the dark suffocating silence of the night. Not yet, at least. There’s still too much love for him in your heart. Still too many memories of brighter days. Sweeter days. Gentler days. 

He’s been good to you. As good as a man like him is capable of being. And you love him so, so dearly for it. 

He has tomorrow off, maybe -- maybe you should talk to him. There’s still time to salvage this. There’s still so much love for him in your heart, enough to drive out the hate. You know it. 

He has tomorrow off, you repeat to yourself. The first full day he’s taken off in a month. 

You’ll talk to him then. 

You have to. 

+

The morning light is what wakes you. The gentle rays kiss your cheeks so sweetly. 

Without fully opening your eyes, you reach towards Ushi only to be met with -- cool sheets. 

Your stomach drops painfully and it's as though he’s taken your heart in his hands and just squeezed. 

You open your eyes, wearily, tiredly, and the morning light no longer seems so sweet. It’s mocking. A cruel, bitter reminder of better days and broken promises. 

You crawl out of bed, trying to stay optimistic -- maybe he just went for a morning jog -- even though you know that on days he has off he likes to sleep in. You try desperately to give him the benefit of the doubt, because he promised and you want so badly to still be able to believe him, even after everything. 

He used to have every Saturday and Sunday free, then around three years ago it turned into every Sunday, then a year and a half ago it turned into every other Sunday, and recently -- well, it’s been a while. A long, long while. 

But he promised he’d stay home today. 

He promised, you repeat as you stumble around the apartment only to find it painfully silent, empty, and so, so cold. 

You collapse on the couch, hunched over, your head hanging pitifully into your hands. You take a deep, pathetically shaky breath. 

And then you laugh. 

You laugh so hard you nearly heave. 

Two years ago, you would’ve cried. A year ago, you would’ve screamed. 

But now? Who do you really have to blame, but yourself? How can you not laugh? How can you not laugh at just how stupid and gullible you are? 

Really, how many times can you blame Ushijima for breaking your heart when you’re the one who can’t seem to stop handing it to him -- on a silver fucking platter no less. 

This is your fault. And it has been for a long while now. 

It’s time to move on. 

+

You book a one-way flight home -- you haven’t been back in so long. Too long, you know. You stuff as much as you can into your single suitcase and pitiful carry-on bag. It’s all strangely methodical and robotic. You’re calmer than you’ve been in months. 

This is how it was always going to end. Honestly, you don’t think there was really supposed to be another option, any other way out. You don’t think this mess was ever going to be fixed. It was stupid of you to ever believe otherwise. 

By the time you’ve managed to compose yourself, get your affairs in order, and meticulously pack away as much as you can, the sun has started to dip below the horizon. 

The clock reads 9:18 PM. Your flight is in a few hours. You’ll have to get going soon. 

You pick out the nicest, most expensive bottle of red wine in your home. You were going to save it for when Ushi made the national team again but, as you’ve learned rather painfully, sometimes plans change. 

You pour yourself a glass, but in the end, can’t bring yourself to take a single sip. 

That’s how Ushi finds you, sitting at the kitchen table, toying with a glass of wine. There’s only the lone kitchen light lit in the apartment. The shadows dance around him, dark and monstrous, ready to swallow you both whole. 

Wakatoshi has never been particularly skilled at reading social cues but you can tell from the slight tilt of his head that he knows somethings wrong. You wonder if he knows exactly how wrong. 

(Not that it would really change anything if he did.)

The thud of his gym bag hitting the floor echoes too loudly in the silent apartment. 

He steps into the kitchen like he does all other things -- with purpose, with confidence. It will never not leave you in awe, even now, how sure he always is of himself. He’s a blunt force weapon, he always has been, and you can’t imagine a time where he’ll be anything but. 

He stops at the opposite end of the table. It’s the beginning of the same song and dance you two have done time and time again when he breaks his little promises. 

His big ones too. 

(You think of when he had missed your five-year anniversary dinner for a last-minute practice. He hadn’t forgotten about the reservation, he’d told you after he’d returned home to you sitting alone at the kitchen table, half-drunk and livid, but people were relying on him, is what he’d said, and there’s always next year.)

This routine is comforting, if only in the cruelest way. 

We can put on a show, just this last time, you think. For old time’s sake. 

Your eyes fall back down to your glass as you speak. “You said you’d stay home today.”

You look back up just in time to see him opening his mouth. No doubt getting ready to cycle through the same set of excuses he’s been using for the past four years. 

A teammate called. 

I needed the extra practice. 

There’s a skill I need to perfect. 

The Olympics are 4 years away...3 years away...2 years away....you know that, love.

And, of course, no matter his reason, his excuse, he always makes sure to add, I’ll stay home next Sunday, I promise. 

He doesn’t intend for that last part to be cruel, you’re sure of it, but God, if that doesn’t make it so much worse. 

You cut him off before he can even start. “You promised.”

His brows furrow at your exhausted, weary tone. “There was a team meeting today, I’m sorry I forgot to mention it to you. It went on longer than I expected it would. We can still go out to dinner if you’d like.” 

You give him a sad sort of smile. You’re too tired to give him any other. “I don’t think I’ll have time for that, love.”

Ushijima’s left brow twitches, as it always does when he doesn’t quite understand what’s going on. 

He takes a step forward, around the table. “What do you mean? Are you going out tonight?” 

You shake your head softly. “No, Toshi.”

You can’t help but wish more than anything, that it didn’t have to come to this, because you have loved him so much, so deeply, and you think that for it to end like this is a disservice to you both. 

His jaw clenches, no doubt already trying to contain his frustration. He’s probably tired after his long day. An argument over something like this is probably the last thing he wants. A good wife would care more. A good wife might’ve persevered, smiled through her husband's little lies and shattered promises. A good wife might’ve tried harder. A good wife might’ve dug her heels in, instead of letting go completely. 

But you’re not a good wife. Not now, at least. For all you know, you never were. You’ve always been just a bit too bitter, too selfish, too flawed. Not willing enough to throw yourself on the metaphorical altar for him. 

He’s close enough now that he can see the suitcase at your side. It stops him dead in his tracks. 

“What’s going on?” His tone is hard, demanding, but you know him too well to miss the fear that pulls at the corner of his eyes. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a lot of things. But he’s certainly not dumb. He has to know what’s going on. He has to have known that, eventually, this was what was going to happen. 

You stand up slowly, bracing your palms against the rough wood of the tabletop. 

“I-” you let out a harsh, mean breath. You hate that you’re doing this. But you’d hate yourself more if you didn’t. And you know you’d grow to hate him too, eventually, if you stay. You’re burning up here in this home, each broken promise and cold night add fuel to the already raging fire. You’ll be nothing but ashes soon enough. “I can’t do this anymore, Wakatoshi.” 

His pretty olive eyes narrow. The look he gives you is practically glacial. His fury has always been so, so cold. A stark contrast to your burning rage. 

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t understand.” His words are slow, methodical, and too even.

They crack open something violent inside your chest, something with teeth. Something mean and ugly and so, so sad. 

Too many years of biting your tongue have culminated into this moment. It’s time to strip yourself to the bone, to the ugly marrow. No matter how painful or awful. 

Don’t you two deserve that, at least? Don’t you two deserve to part ways having seen the worst of each other? 

“Of course you don’t understand, Ushijima,” you spit out, caustic and cruel. “How can you?” The laugh you let out is ripped from the very bottom of your heart, mean and poisonous. “Or more accurately, why would you? Why would you even bother understanding? It’s not like my unhappiness has ever really meant anything to you before-”

He cuts in sharply. “You know that’s not true.”

“No,”  you hiss. “I don’t. How can I? I’ve been miserable for years now, left to beg for scraps of your attention like a fucking dog. I’ve reduced myself to this pathetic creature. I-” tears cloud your vision, far faster than you can blink them away. “I don’t even recognize myself anymore, Ushijima. I’m so--I’m so angry all the time and if I stay here that’s going to be all that’s left of me.”

It’s silent after your outburst and in the air is something awful and too great. You’re both teetering on the edge of something terrifying. 

“If you stay with me, you mean,” he says, finally, and far too soft for a man like him. All signs of his previous fury have fled and in his eyes is a painful sort of vulnerability.

Your anger dissipates with his, mostly because you’re so fucking tired of being angry. 

Is it really his fault, anyway? What exactly were you expecting of him, when you took his last name? Were you really wanting him to change something so fundamental, so ingrained in his soul, just for you? How unfair of you, you realize now, how cruel. 

“Toshi.” You’re exhausted. And so sick of being second best. “This is more my fault than it is yours. I thought I could handle what being married to you would entail but I was,” -- you laugh, far less biting than before-- “very wrong.” You close your eyes, unable to look at him. “And now I suppose we’re both paying the price for it.” 

“I love you,” he says, bluntly. “And you love me.”

You’re finally able to meet his eyes again. You take in the planes of his face, the subtle pain etched into every corner, a brutal, beautiful reflection of the years you’ve spent by his side. 

“I do love you, Ushijima. More than anything.” 

“Then why are you doing this?” 

You swallow hard. “Sometimes, that just isn’t enough, Toshi. Relationships require more than love. They require work, and compromise, and some semblance of care and dedication, and you just-- you just don’t have the time for that right now, and I understand that. But I can’t keep doing this to myself. I deserve-” you stop and give yourself a moment to choose your words carefully, lovingly because you’re desperate for him to just understand. “We deserve better, don’t you think?”

He shakes his head, his hair falls in his eyes. You sweep it aside, a force of habit after all these years, something you’ve done a million and one times. Before you can jerk your arm back he grips it in his large hand. His fingers wrap around your wrist, unyielding. 

“I need you,” Toshi says, uncharacteristically desperate. You can feel the heat radiating off his chest. It's a twisted sort of comfort. Knowing this may very well be the last time you’ll be in this position. 

You smile, sweetly and a bit sadly. “No, you don’t, Ushi. You need volleyball. You need the thrill of the game and the taste of victory but you don’t need me. You’ve never needed me. And that’s okay.” You lift your other hand up to brush the stray tear that’s fallen from his eye. He nuzzles into your palm before you can move it, clinging to you like some sort of lifeline. “It’ll be okay, Toshi, we’ve just reached the end of our road. That’s all.”

He raises a shaky hand to trace the dried tracks of tears on your cheek, it’s startling to see him so uncomposed. “Please,” he nearly begs, “don’t do this.”

In your heart, there’s an odd brew of grief and rage and pain and love so mean you know you’ll feel the ache of it for years to come. 

You think of all the shattered promises he’s left at your feet, you think of the gentle way he’s held you through the years, you think of his string of nonchalant rejection, you think of yourself, bright and burning. 

Your mind spins from it and all you can do is rest your head against his chest and close your eyes.

a/n pt 2: there is some untapped potential in the fed up housewife genre and i am determined to unearth it. also i love ushi i promise i think he’d be a great husband under most circumstances

[wearywinchester]

With You

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When the sleeping arrangements appear to be less than ideal, something more comes out of it.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, fluff

A huff.

That’s one of the first things you had done when you had initially found out about your sleeping arrangements earlier that morning, delivered to you by a smiling Sam who’d tried to soften the blow with his famous puppy eyes. Those very eyes only half worked on you this time, and maybe it would’ve gone into full effect had you not looked at his brother who’d been standing at your other side with a knowing grin on his lips.

You must have asked Sam nearly a dozen times if he’d been sure that was the very last room and each time you were met with the same answer, each time you were met with the same grin that was returned with a narrowed stare. You were tempted to sleep in the car, even on the concrete of the parking lot so long as you didn’t have to share a bed with the older Winchester. But none of those options seemed to check out.

A huff is what you’d done upon entering the motel room later that evening, the lone bed awaiting you as if to taunt you and your very fate.

The hunt hadn’t gone exactly as planned, having gone south just enough to have Dean thrown through a wall by a more than hungry vampire. It wasn’t anything a few bandages couldn’t fix, a job he’d asked you to do.

Now here you were, standing between Dean’s thighs as he sat at the edge of said bed, leaning back against his palms until you’d told him not to with a huff.

“I’m quite sure you could’ve done this yourself you know,” you mumble, grabbing ahold of his chin when he shied away from you at the sting of the antiseptic on his face. “Actually I’m positive.”

“You do it better,” he said, a smile forming on his bloodied lips.

“That was stupid what you did back there,” you say, doing your best to distract yourself from thinking of just how close you were to him in that very moment. Though trying your hardest didn’t seem to be the solution you were looking to have. “Really stupid.”

“Oh, you mean saving you? I had it covered.”

“I had it covered. I’m not the one who got thrown through a wall now am I?”

He scrunched his nose and mocked your words, an action he came to regret as he winced while he brought his fingers up to his split lip and now it was your turn to smile. He knew full well you were right but he’d never admit it, not in a million years. That was something he’d keep to himself. Truth was, he felt it was a little too close of a call back there, more dangerous than he’d liked and he couldn’t help the instincts he’d had to step in. If he’d gotten bumps and bruises along the way then so be it. That was far more worth it to him than the damage being done to you instead.

But that was also something he’d leave to himself for the time being.

“Could you be a little more gentle, Bruce Banner?” He teases, bumping you with his knee. “Feels like you’re doing more damage than fangs did back there.”

You purse your lips at his words, landing a soft punch to his shoulder that wiped the last traces of his smile from his face in favor of an equally unamused expression.

“What? You said I’m the hulk.” You shrug nonchalantly, flashing him a smile. “Just living up to the name.”

You notice the way the corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly as he looked away, any traces of faux annoyance leaving his face and you made a concerted effort to be gentler this time, just a little. You also noticed the way he’d relaxed some, save for a few nose scrunches each and every time you’d cleaned the scrape on his face.

“Might hurt a little less if you held still,” you suggested after a while later when he’d groaned, the bite behind your tone something he noticed immediately.

“Ease up with the attitude, will you, sweetheart?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward again, more so when you roll your eyes at the nickname. The one that made your heart flutter and your cheeks grow warm whenever it rolled off his tongue in your direction. The one that fell from his lips with a sarcastic edge that never failed to weave around the single word most times, but not always. Yeah, that one.

“Be quiet, will you, sweetheart?”

You breathe out a huff through your nose, lips turned downward and the slightest of frowns as your brows knit together. The remnants of his smile still remain at your counter as his eyes fall closed once more, lashes curling softly over the very tops of his freckled cheeks. The silence that fell over the small room should’ve been a good thing, should’ve been beneficial for your ability to focus on the task at hand but your attention has since been pulled elsewhere. It’d been long gone the moment the two of you stepped into that room.

It felt as though the walls were closing in on you inch by inch, as if the air conditioned room was just as hot as the summer air outside. You wanted to make excuses for yourself, to think of something logical enough to pass it off as anything other than what it was. Perhaps it’d been a little stuffy in that room, it certainly was hot enough to be. Maybe you were still running on adrenaline from the hunt you’d come back from not more than half an hour ago. Or maybe it was the way you stood inches from the older Winchester as you tended to his wounds while he sat with that same smirk he’d been wearing for the last five minutes. The way he nudged you with his knee each time stung the scrape along his jaw.

That. It was definitely that.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head away from you with a scrunched nose as his hand circles around your wrist. “I’m convinced you’re doin’ this on purpose. Because you hate me after all.”

His brow was raised and you could’ve sworn you’d seen a brief moment of sincerity cross his face, something just as quickly hidden by the grin tugging lightly at his lips. Your eyes roll then, head shaking as a laugh falls past your lips and his hand falls from your wrist slowly.

“I don’t hate you,” you sigh, quiet enough to cushion the embarrassment of your words but loud enough for him to hear.

“So you like me?”

Yes, maybe you do.

Your gaze shifts from your hands back to his eyes, your stare narrowed as you bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think that’s what I said.”

He laughs softly, dimple forming at the corner of his mouth as he gives a nod, then a hum as if he’d been mulling over the meaning of your four word statement spoken just moments before. As if he didn’t believe a single one of those words to be true, as though he had seen right through you. If he did, he didn’t say anything, eyes sparkling at you.

You hoped he hadn’t seen how your hands shook as you worked, continuing to blot the peroxide soaked cotton ball over the scrape lining his jaw. He didn’t particularly like the sensation, the action stinging sharply with each press of it along the fresh wound. You tried your hardest to ignore the way he’d gathered a fistful of the comforter within his hand, or the way his very jaw tensed under your palm. You tried not to notice the way he’d scooted closer to the edge of the bed, closer to you.

You swallowed, biting your cheek as you grabbed a fresh cotton pad and wet it with more antiseptic. Now it was the part you’d been saving for last, the part you’d put off as long as you possibly could in hopes that maybe it’d magically heal itself. Maybe it’d disappear if you’d waited just a few seconds longer. But fate didn’t humor you this time, the cut along the curve of his bottom lip still very much there and waiting to be tended to as hues of scarlet sat smudged around it, pooling slightly at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not a big deal. Nothing worthy enough to make your stomach twist in knots, nothing to add to the shake in your hands or the quickened pace of your heart. It was just Dean Winchester, the man you swore got on your last nerve and not at all was the source of your butterflies over time.

Definitely not a big deal.

“Would it kill you to hold still?” You ask, huffing once more.

“No, but you’re cute when you’re angry,” he says, brow raised in amusement.

You settled your hand on his jaw, thumb resting just under his lip to keep him stilled in place though it was becoming all the more difficult to hold your focus now that you’d done so. He was grinning at you again, soft as it lingered on his lips, careful to not tug at the split adorning it or the pale crimson smeared lightly over the edge that you were quick to wipe away before your heart beat out of your chest. You swiped your thumb over his bottom lip as you did so, your breath hitching softly.

“Something wrong?” He asked, the ever familiar tease to his words not lost on you.

“What makes you say that?”

When you look up, you meet his gaze and you’re starting to wonder just how long it’d been that he’d been looking at you like that. In such a way that you bit the inside of your cheek to try your hardest to keep the traces of a smile beginning to develop from becoming obvious. What had also been obvious was the fact that your hand was still on his cheek, his stubble scratching lightly against your palm and you could feel each and every time it’d clenched, or the way his voice rumbled just so under your fingertips.

You pretended you couldn’t see the details in his eyes—every shade of green and every fleck of yellow that swirled within them all framed by lashes that curled away from them. You pretended you couldn’t see the smattering of freckles that peppered across the bridge of his nose, more sparse as they danced across the very tops of his cheeks, ones you hadn’t ever noticed until you were just mere inches from his face. Said freckles dotted along his skin, meshing with the pink of his lips that you’d just been tending to before you got caught up with seemingly more pressing matters.

It was becoming increasingly more apparent just how close you’d been to the green eyed hunter when you felt the warmth of his breath fan over your skin, over the pad of your thumb. It was near dizzying when it swept over you, his once teasing smirk falling in favor of a much softer smile. Of course you’d see that, you were staring.

You were staring.

“Y/n?”

You swallowed thickly, clearing your throat in hopes to dissolve some of the tension that was more than apparent in the room. It didn’t work. You dropped your hand from his face in favor of scratching the back of your neck, though the action hadn’t looked as calm as you wanted, all but jerking your hand away as if touching him for a moment longer would sear your skin.

It was then that you turned away from him, your attention fixed on fumbling with the first aid kit that lay sifted through next to him on the bed. Your cheeks burned under his gaze, at the moment you’d just shared that felt as though it’d lasted far longer than it was. The time was indiscernible, but the way your heart hammered in your chest and the way your hands trembled slightly as you haphazardly stuffed cotton pads and unused alcohol wipes was very easy to notice in your eyes.

“Y/n.”

You were so caught up in passing off the last chunk of time as anything other than what it was, as if it didn’t happen, that you hadn’t answered him the first time. It wasn’t until his hand caught your wrist that you looked at him once more.

“You’re good to go, Winchester,” you say, finding your way back to your usual banter in hopes to stave off the remaining tension though you knew it was no use. “Don’t go looking for any more vamps. I’m afraid you just might cry if I have to give you stitches.”

He laughed behind you as you made your way to the bathroom, your smile widening at the sudden sound of his protests upon realizing just what it is you had said.

You closed the door behind you, back pressed to the wood as you let out the breath you’d been holding and you tipped your head back. It was only then that your heart rate returned to nearly normal, eyes falling closed for a brief few moments. You hadn’t entirely been sure what it was that just happened, if anything at all. Though it was more than apparent that maybe you didn’t have it out for him as much as you let on, you knew that to be true as much as you didn’t want it to be.

You took the couple of steps to the sink and ran your hands under the faucet, cooling the heat in your cheeks as you splashed handfuls of water over your skin. You brushed your teeth once—even twice for good measure, doing something, anything to borrow as much time as you could before you had to go back out there. The way you felt jittery, the butterflies in your stomach each and every time his hand brushed over yours or the moment he met your gaze even if it’d only been for a mere second. The way your heart hadn’t quite stopped its racing no matter how much time had gone by. It made you feel as though you were a teenager again with some silly crush.

Now you were sharing a bed with green eyes and you feared this just might be the way you go. Not by a freak accident or a great big ugly monster, but by sharing a bed with Dean Winchester.

With another deep breath and countless minutes later you swung open the door, Dean already having been settled in bed. His boots sat neatly on the floor by his side, jeans strewn next to them. He flashed you a grin, brow quirking upwards.

“Here I thought you ran off on me.”

You roll your eyes at the assumption though you were strongly considering it, more so when you’d noticed the bed was borderline too small for two. But you pushed that down and pulled back the covers, settling close to the edge of your side with your back to him and the blankets up over your shoulders.

He took note of the way you lay huddled on the very edge of the bed, nearly falling to the floor should he move around the slightest bit. Your back was to him but you could still feel his eyes on you, your gaze fixed on the tacky framed painting hanging crooked on the wall.

“Y/n/n, I don’t bite,” he sighs, voice soft and words sincere.

“Yeah right, Winchester,” you mumble, a smile pulling at your lips.

You hear him huff, feel the bed move a little bit in what you assumed was him rolling over for the night. You were ready to dig your heels in and sleep on the edge of the bed out spite even if it was uncomfortable. Even if you did want to tuck in a little closer because you hadn’t hated him as much as you had let on. But you don’t think you’d ever tell green eyes that, not in a million years. He’d never let you live it down and you feel you know that for sure.

“Maybe it’s you that bites,” he suggests, humor in his tone and a grin behind his words.

You snort, head shaking softly.

“Maybe it is.”

You can hear his quiet laugh behind you, the room falling silent once more save for the tick of the clock in the nightstand and the howl of the wind just on the other side of the wall. You’d since move away from the mattress’s edge just merely an inch, unnoticeable by most but more than apparent for you.

It’s quiet when you think about what’s running through his mind, if he’s thinking about what had happened not long before what’s happening now just as much as you had been. If he’d given it second thought at all. You’d been curious as to whether or not he’d gotten just as flustered. Not that it mattered. Not that it didn’t. You were quite sure you were the only one dwelling on the subject. For all you knew, the newfound silence could have been telling that Dean had already fallen asleep and you were perfectly content with pretending the last hour had never happened. More than content, in fact.

That was the plan until the silence was broken.

“Hey, you uh…” he starts, tone much more serious than it had been not long before. “You don’t have to share a bed with me if you don’t want to. I can take the floor.”

His offer was sincere, in fact, that’s the most serious he’d been since you nearly had a close call on the hunt earlier that day. Obviously, he’d followed it with a witty counter and pursed lips, something about learning to not be so reckless falling from his lips. Regardless, he’d meant what he’d just said.

You roll your eyes as you finally move to roll over.

“Dean, don’t be ridiculous—”

Your breath hitched once more when you nearly brushed noses with him, not really just how small the bed was and just how close he’d be. Soon you find yourself in the same situation as you had been once already that day, cheeks burning and heart racing. The same heart fluttering, time stopping situation that made it feel like something even as simple as breathing at a steady rate seems like the most difficult task to achieve to date.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

The corner up his mouth quirked up, an indicator that was forever telling that he’d been up to something.

“I’m serious, I’m sure it’s not easy to share a bed with Dean Winchester,” he says, a laugh leaving his lips when you swat at his shoulder.

“I don’t think you realize how much of a pain you are,” you grumble, brows knit together in a display of discontent though the way you bite your lip to hide your amusement says otherwise.

What he said, it was obvious, you knew the first time he said it it’d been sincere. He didn’t need to tell you it was for you to believe it. You knew him well enough to know the difference between him poking fun to get on your last nerve and when he’s truthful, you’re just lucky enough to get both.

“Oh but I think I do.” You huff out a sigh, lips pursed as you look up at him and he lets out a breath of his own as he looks at you. “Seriously, I mean it. I can get comfortable on the floor if you want me to.”

You look up at him, laughing softly in a way he knew wasn’t teasing this time. “It’s fine, Dean, really.”

“Oh, so you do like me?”

“Who said that?”

He huffs out a laugh, propping himself up on his elbow as his jaw rests on his palm. He pretends to ponder the question as though it required much thought. “Well, you’re lookin’ at me like that again. Like you did a little bit ago when you were patching me up.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you say, shoving his shoulder again. His reasoning was soft and not entirely teasing, not mocking either and you knew for a fact you’ve got to get better at hiding your emotions. You can’t fight your smile this time, one that was very telling to him that you’d been up to no good. Couldn’t be.

“What?” He asked, face displaying amused curiosity.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “I’m thinking maybe you just want to be close to me,” you say, matter of factly as you look up at him, trying your hardest to take the heat off of you.

“Oh really?” He asks, amusement on his tongue as you nod. “Your cheeks just might be hotter than the sun right now, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes and push his hand away, though you stay right where you are. Even though you promised you hated him, you knew you didn’t. You knew it was far more than that, and you knew you missed the feeling of his hand on your cheek. He knew it too. You hated that your very emotions were so easily pinpointed by him, you were convinced your every thought was too for that matter. You were starting to wonder if you’d been that transparent or if he’d just known you better than you knew yourself.

“Maybe I’ll just sleep in the car with Sam,” you say, though you made no effort to move his hand from your cheek.

He simply hums, nodding his head as his eyes squinted in disbelief that you’d actually consider subjecting yourself to Sam’s snoring in such close quarters. He knew you wouldn’t do that either.

You were doomed.

Never mind the fact that you had now been sharing the same pillow, never mind the fact that you were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fan over your lips, more so with every word he spoke. You were far too distracted by the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth in a way you knew meant he surely knew you were full of it. By the way his hand settles lightly over your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin in a soft motion.

Your heart bounded as you looked at him, as your cheeks continued to burn under his fingertips. It was then that you did it.

You leaned forward, the inches between you becoming centimeters, centimeters falling to nothing as your lips brushed over his own. You felt him smile, the softness of his laughter sounding against your lips as his hand remained on your cheek and the tips of his fingers tangled in your hair. It wasn’t more than soft touches of the others lips, the second kiss longer than the first, and the third sweeter than the last. And even though you’d parted, neither of you strayed far as your smiles lingered in the close proximity.

He laughs again, fingers brushing over the top of your cheek, thumb smoothing over your skin. It’s that all familiar mix of humor and something a little bit more.

“And here you said you didn’t like me,” he says, the tip of his nose bumping yours.

“And I just might change my mind.”

With that he grabbed your hand, pulling you in closer before he rolled to lay on his back. You settled down on his chest, head over his heart as your smile lingered—you hadn’t seen the one to match yours as his eyes fell closed, but it’d been there.

“So does this mean—”

“Night Dean.”

He pauses for a minute, smiling to himself as he answers his own question.

“Night sweetheart.”

Maybe sharing a bed with green eyes wasn’t so bad after all, but you won’t admit that. At least not to Sam.

—

Tags: @gxtitobxby @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey

[mc-lukanette]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

—————

Luka took a breath as he hit the last emotion-filled note on his guitar. His body vibrated just as his strings did, though he realized soon enough that there weren't enough high notes to lift him from feeling so low.

Marinette was Ladybug. He was still absorbing it, even though a part of him insisted that it should've been obvious; not just because there could only be one girl in Paris who was so brave, kindhearted, and suited for the job, but... well—

There was also only one girl in Paris who could be so unlucky. Luka was upset - angry, really - at all the things he couldn't have known that just proved to put more pressure on her. People idolized and adored Ladybug, but he never once thought that he wanted to be her. She didn't get anything from being a superhero outside of wasted time and the guilt of having to lie to everyone. He'd felt bad enough keeping Viperion a secret from his family, and he was only a temporary hero.

He sighed, setting his guitar down and raking his fingers through his hair. Marinette being Ladybug would've been enough of a shock on its own, but Adrien being Chat Noir made everything both worse and more complicated. In the midst of all the realizations he'd been having at the time, he felt lucky that he was able to get Ladybug - Marinette - to believe that his mind had just drifted for a moment. She'd still looked worried, but there was nothing he could've told her at the time, his mind too scrambled to be certain what the right steps were.

He'd always imagined that past snakes had learned of other's identities before as well, and thus had wondered before what he'd do if such a thing ever happened. Chat wasn't the one "in charge," so Luka wasn't worried about him (at least not in terms of talking about identities), but Ladybug was a different story.

Previously, he would've said that he'd tell her without hesitation, but the problem was that she was Marinette and the way he found out made things messy. If he told her that he knew, she'd blame herself and demand to know what happened for him to know so she could try to "fix" it, except there was nothing to fix and a conversation about his abilities would inevitably lead to talking about Adrien being Chat Noir.

In essence, he was at a roadblock. There was probably no "right" solution either, as he figured Sass might tell him; that even seemed to be the message Sass wordlessly sent him as Ladybug took his miraculous back. He’d probably known, and maybe had intentionally given him the power to see red strings on heroes in the first place. He didn’t know for sure because he couldn’t ask, aware that it would make Ladybug even more suspicious after he’d already tried to assure her.

What he did know was that Chat was something else to think about now. Chat was tied to her, and he knew - everyone knew, really - that there was drama going on in their relationship. He'd done only a little digging and Face to Face was all the evidence he'd needed, as if seeing the two interact in person wasn't already enough.

There was a pressure there, for Ladybug and Chat Noir to be a couple. Chat Noir was a habitual flirt, and most people ate up any drama or “juicy details” about their relationship. Everyone went wild for the hand kisses that Chat gave Ladybug, whether or not she pulled away from it. Add on the red string of fate, and it just made everything worse, making him wonder what the ties meant; did Adrien's string being tied around his ring mean that he became the cat through fate, specifically so—

It made Luka feel gross just thinking about it, and knowing what he knew made it even worse; people were shipping his friend with someone she wasn't interested in, even if it was "one side" specifically that she wasn't interested in.

He shook his head, feeling vaguely possessive. It wasn't about Marinette being his friend; it was about her deserving better than something deciding her fate for her.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a familiar jingle, pulling out his phone to see a message from Marinette.

Are we still on for tonight?

FOR THE FIRE I MEAN.

I just don't want you to get in trouble! You're sure???

He chuckled, his shoulders easing at Marinette's usual enthusiasm. It was adorable that she was worried about him and not what they were planning to do.

He typed back immediately, I'm sure, Marinette. Don't worry.

He glanced at the drawer under his bed, where all the Adrien pictures were. He imagined Adrien's face plastered all over Paris, flashing back and forth between Adrien himself and Chat Noir.

He felt like he shouldn’t be shocked by the revelation, though he wouldn't be able to quite explain why.

—————

Luka looked over his work once more, checking to make sure the fire would start properly. It'd been a while, but he at least hadn't gotten rusty and even got a congratulatory pat on the back from his mother when she'd seen him carrying the supplies. Had she known that it was Marinette's decision to do this, she would've married them on the spot herself.

As he eyed the box of Adrien pictures set out, he had to bury another slew of thoughts. He knew it was right to try and get rid of Marinette's string, but and he felt guilty knowing that he’d be satisfied at seeing the pictures burn for reasons outside of Marinette.

Speaking of whom, he looked up as he heard a familiar set of footsteps to see Marinette herself heading towards the Liberty, having just made her way down the stairs. She was dressed fairly lightly for nighttime, but wore a fluffy pink shawl around her shoulders to make up for it. Considering what they were doing, it made sense that she wasn't concerned about the cold.

The gangplank had already been put up for her, so she walked across with a smile that warmed him more than the eventual fire would. "Hey."

He smiled back, plopping down comfortably on the seat behind him. "Hey."

She gripped her shawl closer to herself as she glanced at the setup for the fire, the moonlight briefly shining off of her earrings. Luka attempted to avert his gaze from them, but only ended up staring at the red string around her neck. He gave up looking at her entirely at that point, checking the setup again as if it was extremely important to do so.

"You can sit anywhere," he offered, gesturing vaguely to all of the mismatched seats he'd placed around the future fire. He'd wanted to make sure she'd have options, though he hoped the designer side of her didn't mind the chaos of it all. He'd just grabbed whatever spare seating they'd had.

Marinette's eyes scanned over the various choices. Giggling, she replied, "Thank you."

He nodded in acknowledgment. He wasn't in any hurry to get the pictures burned, even if burning them was their goal that day. He'd intentionally had her go slowly so as to test the red string as little as possible, and he planned on doing the same here.

"I brought one for you too," she suddenly said off to his side.

He looked over in curiosity and noticed her open purse, a large piece of blue fabric nearly bursting out of it. It took a bit of effort from her - he imagined that she'd wanted it to be a surprise - but she managed to pull it out, presenting him with a shawl that matched hers exactly outside of its color. He smiled in appreciation of her thoughtfulness, then reached for it before realizing with a start, "Wait. Marinette, did you make these?"

Before she could answer, he took the shawl in his hands, turning it every possible way. Without a doubt, it was her handiwork, and along the back was where the design broke with a Marinette.

"Yeah," she confirmed, and he could practically hear her shy blush. "It's just—you're doing this for me, but even if you weren't, I don't want you to get cold, so..."

"It's great," he cut in firmly, leaving no room for doubt on her end. "Soft. Comfortable. I wish I was better with fashion to say more."

"No, you said more than enough," she assured, taking a seat next to him. That fact looked both silly and intimate given the multiple other seats she could've chosen instead, but he tried not to think about it.

Instead, he gave a curious glance at her pink shawl, silently comparing it to the one she'd given him. "...You didn't have to make it blue," he commented, and clarified before she could think anything bad, "I would've happily worn your colors."

She gave him a look, though didn't seem weirded out by the idea. "But... it's pink."

"What's wrong with pink?" he asked, genuinely confused. "It's your color."

She blushed, her shoulders hunching forward shyly. He didn't even bother taking back what he said, because he meant it; he might've favored blue when he picked out an outfit, but pink made him think of her.

It was much better than red at the very least.

Marinette pursed her lips in response, idly tugging at her shawl and seeming to be in an internal debate with herself. Apparently making a decision, she closed her eyes and breathed up, letting out a soft, "Okay."

He blinked and gave a tilt of his head to show his confusion. "Okay?"

She turned to him, resolutely pulling the fabric off of her shoulders. "T-then you can wear mine?"

He couldn't get another word out, too distracted by Marinette leaning towards him and carefully settling the shawl around his shoulders. Despite the bold move, she couldn't keep eye contact with him, awkwardly hanging onto the front of the shawl as she stared at his lap. She wasn't exactly warm or exuded any particular body heat - in fact, he was sure that her hands would be cold if he held them - but there was a comfort there that couldn't be matched by anyone else.

It took him a moment to make a move, at which point he remembered the fabric underneath his fingers. In a motion equally as careful as hers, he raised the blue shawl and settled it around her shoulders. She finally met his gaze, surprised, but smiled gratefully and released her grip on the pink shawl.

"You can keep it," she said quietly, with less shyness than before.

"Really?" he asked, placing a hand on the fabric to make sure it was what she meant.

She nodded, gripping her own as she replied, "A-as long as I can keep this one in exchange?"

He snorted, even covering his mouth to stifle a chuckle. "You made them, Marinette. Of course you can." He gave an obvious glance at the shawl to admire it. "I'd be happy to match with you."

She beamed at him. "Me too."

That topic officially concluded, his mind went blank for anything more and both of their gazes drifted to the unlit fire. He didn't have to look to know that she was shifting in anxiety in her seat, either wanting to back out or just get it over with.

"Are you ready?" he asked experimentally.

"Yes," she responded, perhaps a little stiffly but the resolve was there. She wanted this.

Luka stood briefly, and within the next few moments, the fire had been lit. The flames started out faint at first, then grew until it was something respectable, easily illuminating the small area around them. The slight chill from the wind dissipated as the fire warmed their skin, Luka hearing Marinette sigh in content harmony with him.

Neither of them took their shawls off despite the increased warmth.

The additional light from the fire made the box of pictures more obvious, with it sitting on a table not too far away. Luka took a step towards it, but Marinette was faster, grabbing up the box and turning to him with a determined expression.

"I have to do it," she insisted.

He didn't exactly disagree - this wasn't his battle - but it didn't stop him from looking nervously at the red string, the dangling part of it laying across her hand and dipping itself in the box, taunting him.

"How many do you want to do at a time?" He was careful in his wording, not wanting his tone to imply anything.

She furrowed her brows, staring down at the box in deep thought. Her fingers flexed against the cardboard, a small gust of wind blowing by and causing the fire behind her to whip around in protest.

"...All of them," she muttered, then met his gaze cautiously. "Will that be okay?"

Luka glanced at the fire, but it wasn't that he was worried about. The string would try to fight her, he was sure of it, and the only thing he wasn't sure of was if it would be better or not to let her go with her wishes. He half expected the string to physically drag her off the Liberty, and the mere thought caused his neck to sting.

But, he also believed in her. She was fighting fate herself without having used the snake even once, and he wasn't going to deny her if she thought this was best.

"Yeah," he assured. "Just don't get too close. I don't want you to get hurt."

She nodded, obviously not catching onto what he really meant.

Luka sat down on his chair, toying with the rips in his pants to keep his hands occupied as he watched her. Her posture was straight and confident as she faced the flames, despite the shake in her hands, and he was sure the fire in her eyes wasn't just a reflection.

He didn't see Ladybug in her place. There was only Marinette and everything that he already knew about her. Knowing what he did now wasn't surprising, but heartbreaking, and he couldn't be prouder of her for doing what she was trying to do.

To go against what everyone - even fate itself - expected of her. He couldn't relate on her level, but looking as he did and having the mother he did, he understood.

Finally, Marinette stepped forward, and the string was already tightening around her neck. She froze, shutting her eyes and clutching the box tighter as she mentally fought the sensation.

He barely managed to keep himself still.

She swallowed, taking another step and managing to open her eyes again. She squinted at the fire, either from the light or from her own resolve.

Then, all at once, she thrust the box forward, the pictures flying out and mingling with the flames. The fire flared up in response, practically roaring, and the string tightened further in protest. Marinette even let out a cry as she tossed the box aside.

Luka barely had time to react when she suddenly rushed towards him. He outstretched his arms and she filled up his lap, her heart seeking him out as she clutched his jacket. He wrapped his arms around her, hoping his comfort came through without words.

Her breathing was ragged, and he couldn't tell whether it was from the string or her emotions running high. He brought one of his hands higher up on her back, knowing that he could do nothing more for her but wishing he could.

He took solace in the fact that the worst of it was over.

Staring over her head, he watched as the pictures burned, blond turning black as the flames singed the pictures and reduced them to ashes. Marinette, meanwhile, remained against him, desperately clutching his fabric for wordless support. He honestly would've been okay being the only spectator to what she'd done, but she then shifted in his lap to glance behind her.

They watched the sight together, the fire whipping about with the wind like it was making sure the job was done as they'd wanted. In no time at all, there was no evidence of the pictures left outside of what was allowing the fire to burn brighter.

Marinette let out sigh of relief, collapsing against him again and nuzzling his chest. "What's wrong with me...?"

"Nothing," he replied, clutching her tighter. "You were amazing."

She looked up at him, possibly searching his expression to ensure he meant it, then offered a tired smile. She shifted again, but this time without any urgency or need. Luka sucked in a breath as she nestled her head against his shoulder, making herself comfortable on his lap while still being in a position where they could watch the fire together. Slowly, he relaxed, and they ended up not needing those other chairs after all, neither moving from their comfortable positions.

And, maybe it was just him, but the string seemed looser around her neck than it ever had before.

[miraculouscontent]

"Please, get out of my room."

Marinette's hand shook, trying desperately to keep the doll house behind her together enough to protect the Miracle Box. Her gaze fixed on her friends standing there, Rose crouched down to the sad remains of the doll house's roof while the others were looking on in concerned confusion.

Alya stepped forward first, the request apparently denied. "It's nothing, Marinette. We'll help you fix it, don't worry."

Except it wasn't nothing, it was everything, and of course none of the girls could've known that it was everything but it was. She'd barely had the Miracle Box for any time at all and now she was about to be exposed, the doll house feeling like some sort of metaphor for her life.

Raising her voice, Marinette replied strictly, "It's not nothing! Now leave!"

Most of the girls just stared at her, standing awkwardly in place. She asked - no, told - them to leave, and they weren't leaving. Why weren't they leaving?

Her palms were sweaty, making the task of holding up the doll house's wall all the more anxiety-inducing.

Alya huffed, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "Okay, there's obviously something up—" She crossed her arms. "—and we're not going anywhere until you tell us what it is."

Mylene offered a smile that she clearly thought was reassuring, then held up a bracelet made of yellow threads with five colored beads along them. "We've already given our secrets to this bracelet, so now it's your turn."

Marinette wracked her brain for any memory of said bracelet, wondering if there were a promise she'd forgotten about - wondering if it was an excuse for them showing up out of nowhere - but there was nothing. She didn't even recognize it. Even over the voicemail they'd sent, there was no mention of such a thing.

The wall under her palm wavered, and she had to adjust quickly to keep it in place. She couldn't tell if it was too light or too heavy at this point, but it was ultimately just another thing to worry about that she didn't need. Her gaze flickered to it briefly to make sure it was properly held up, then swiftly focused back on the girls so as to not seem suspicious.

They really weren't going to leave. They were going to force her secrets out of her; force Ladybug out of her, the Miracle Box, everything.

Her stress levels were rising. She was panicking. It was all too much, and she—she...

She snapped.

"I'll—I'll tell you what's wrong!" she began. "You all walking into my room without my permission!"

The girls' mouths all shut in unison, their shoulders tense as they seemed suddenly lost for an argument.

"I didn't want to talk to you, and I definitely don't now!" A particular memory of the voicemail resurfaced, and she was reminded of what they'd said. "I thought you told me that I could talk where and when I wanted to? I thought all of you told me that, and then you showed up anyway?! Why would you lie to me like that?"

The words were bitter, only serving to make her angrier; at them, at herself, and at the whole situation. She hated lying - hated liars - and there was a part of her that couldn't help feeling hypocritical when she had to lie constantly to keep her identity secret.

But another part of her was quick to point out: she lied because she had to. They were lying despite having the choice.

Alya's brows furrowed, and it was hard to tell if she felt genuinely guilty or if she was just trying to think of how save the situation. She glanced back and forth from Marinette to Mylene, then hurriedly took the bracelet and held it out, arguing, "But if we're friends, you have to tell us everything anyway!"

Rose nodded in agreement, fists drawn up to her chest. "And real friends never let each other down!"

Marinette sputtered at first in response, multiple rambling responses trying to come out at once, from reminding them of either their intrusion or their lying to say that they had very much let her down.

Finally, her mouth settled on, "Then I guess we're not friends after all, since I'm letting you down so much! You're always pushing me, and setting things up even when I told you not to, and when everything goes wrong, it's always me who takes the blame, and me who gets teased for it!"

Alix recoiled at the outburst, then averted her gaze, looking somewhere between put off and ashamed as she grumbled, "We were just trying to help."

"I don't want your help! I don't even want you here!"

Marinette breathed shakily, her chest heavily at the emotions building in her chest. She could barely process what was coming out of her mouth and could only wonder how long she'd felt that way. How long had she been holding this in? How much had she been holding in? How long had she thought she deserved to be treated a certain way and took everything like she was the one at fault even if she'd done nothing?

Mental clarity kicked in, Marinette glaring and resolve blazing in her eyes as she asked, "Do you know why I didn't tell you anything?"

They looked on in curious trepidation, obviously not knowing the answer. At first, maybe she hadn't either.

"Because I didn't want you to meddle! Everything just goes wrong and I wanted to just live without worrying about it! I didn't want to  be teased, or talk about Adrien, or be ignored!"

"We don't ignore you!" Alya immediately interjected, taking on an offended tone. "That's why we're here!"

"Then why didn't you know?" Marinette challenged. "You noticed my crush on Adrien, but you didn't notice that I was dating Luka? When he was riding me home from school? When you took all those pictures of us together? I wanted to be left alone to be happy with him without anyone shouting at me about what to do and putting more pressure on me than I already have!"

Rose and Alya shifted in place, not making eye contact.

"You invaded my privacy, you broke my things, and you lied to me! If you're going to make me tell you everything, then—then—" She shook, the tornado of emotions hard to handle. "—then I don't want you as friends! Now get out!"

The girls collectively gaped at her, a few letting out audible gasps and Rose in particular covering her mouth with her hands. Everything went quiet, and Marinette's eyes must've been giving off fire with how any argument lingering on the girls' lips died before they could even come out.

Then, one by one, the girls began to turn and silently walk out of the room, some staying a second or two longer as if Marinette would change her mind if they held to the staring contest a bit longer. Alya was the last one out, her gaze darting up to Marinette one last time in vain.

Marinette just looked away, only reassured that the girls had left when she heard the click of the trap door. She exhaled, her arms stiff and her legs feeling like jelly as everything hit her at once. The gravity of the situation dragged her to the floor, the walls of the doll house falling apart to reveal the Miracle Box to no one but her and the kwami. She'd already cried too many times that day, but the tears were building up again. Anger, sadness, frustration...

Seeing Tikki hover close out of the corner of her eyes, Marinette lamented, "I didn't know what else to do. I didn't have a choice. I was just—and then—and they..."

"I know, Marinette," Tikki said quietly, though it was clear that she had very little comfort to add.

Marinette tried to steady her breathing, but she could see her tears falling onto the floor and knew that she'd lost control of her emotions. In a way, it almost felt relieving, like a weight off her chest that she didn't know had been there, but it didn't stop the terrible feelings from everything that happened that day, and the day before, and the day before that...

"We—" Marinette choked, realizing something and looking up with urgency. "Shadow Moth. He might come after me."

"Ah, but..." Tikki weakly tried to protest, watching as Marinette tried to force herself up.

"Gotta transform. Gotta be ready," Marinette murmured in a daze, her legs wobbling but managing to hold her up. Not letting Tikki get another word in, she hurried to command, "Tikki, spots on."

— — — — —

Marinette hugged her knees to her chest, back against the wall stretching upwards that helped make the bridge where she broke up with Luka. Part of her felt like coming here was some form of self-punishment - a reminder of what she'd lost and why she had to keep it that way - but another part just wanted to be here. It wasn't a good idea to be in her room where everything went down, or where her pictures were, or where the kwami would just remind her of all the things she didn't want to think about. It wasn't like her parents were going to check on her anyway, so she felt it best to be away from it all.

She tried to listen for the melody of the water that Luka had told her about, but every time she thought things were quiet enough to hear it, she would breathe in a little too hard, or Tikki would shuffle around in her purse at a loss for what to say. Marinette sighed in defeat, curling in on herself further and staring at the ground with her eyes half-lidded.

She wished she could go back; back to the day this whole mess started. Maybe she could've avoided Fu, Chloe, and maybe even Alya. She could've stayed in the background, unoffensive and just known as "the clumsy girl," one who didn't lie and leave class unexpectedly with the worse excuses possible. Avoiding Chloe would've meant avoiding her wrath, which meant that there would've been no misunderstanding with Adrien and no "spark" to ignite her crush underneath that umbrella.

Everything would've been so much easier. Maybe she would've met Luka sooner, bumping into him by accident one day and they'd drop all their things, her sketches mingling with his song sheets. They'd apologize and hurry to separate their stuff, then lock eyes and all would be well with the world. She'd stammer out her name when she introduced herself and he'd tease her affectionately, and it'd be okay because she wouldn't be busy being depressed over another guy.

They'd laugh, they'd get along, and there wouldn't be any drama in the way of them getting together. Without her having any responsibilities that would cause her to run off, they'd date, and they'd just... be happy.

Marinette closed her eyes, trying to let herself indulge in the fantasy even if only for a moment. The hold she had on her legs loosened, her hands sliding down until one of her hands brushed the opposite's wrist. She remembered Viperion - Luka - as the hero who thought first just like her and now could never be because of his identity being compromised, yet another by-product of her crush on Adrien in a way.

She exhaled, her thumb futilely brushing over her wrist; over a bangle that wasn't there.

Second Chance...

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, trying to live in fake memories, but when her eyes opened, she still found herself underneath the bridge in a life she didn't want. She stared blankly at the ground, the melody she'd desired still inaudible to her.

It took her a few seconds to realize that the view in front of her wasn't quite what it was before she closed her eyes, and it took a few more to notice the black distressed pants and the shoes splattered with varying random symbols at the corner of her vision. She blinked, unsure if she was seeing properly and wondering if she might be hallucinating after her fantasy, but a quick glance upward caused her eyes to meet Luka's, the brows above them furrowed with concern.

"A-ah," she let out involuntarily, straightening a little. Finally registering that he was there and very real, she inhaled sharply and stood, waving frantically at him as she stammered, "I-I'm so sorry! This is your spot, and I'm taking your spot, and I swear I didn't mean to—" She bent down and brushed her hands along the ground where she'd been sitting, as if she were cleaning it. "—I'll be gone soon, let me just—"

"It's okay," Luka assured while approaching her, his voice even softer than usual but with a tinge of sadness to it.

She stopped, hesitating, then looked back up at him in confusion. They hadn't talked since their break-up and she genuinely thought that he'd be upset with her.

"I'm glad," he said genuinely, "that you can find as much comfort in this place as I do. You don't have to go anywhere."

"...Oh," she uttered, her shoulders easing in mild relief. At least he didn't hate her, she supposed, though the awkwardness in the air was noticeable and she couldn't help noticing that he was keeping a minimum distance of three meters from her.

It hurt.

She fiddled with the strap of her purse, wondering why he was there and how she could've gotten so unlucky as to—well, that part was obvious actually, she'd been unlucky her whole life, but that didn't stop her from wondering what he was doing there. Was it something about his dad, or...?

Against her better judgment, she took a good look at his face, biting her bottom lip guiltily at the tired look in his eyes. He seemed as if he hadn't slept well in a few days, and she couldn't say that she was any different, which made the reason for his expression all the more obvious. It was a terrible feeling, already feeling bad that she made him feel bad and then feeling worse because there was a part of her that was a little glad to have meant so much to him that the break-up actually affected him.  He'd made her feel noticed and seen, something that was rare even amongst her frie—

Ah. Right.

She fidgeted, her feet shifting nervously against the ground. Juleka had been amongst the friends that she'd called out and forced to leave. She wasn't sure how close Luka was with his sister, as most of the interactions she'd seen were when they were in a group, but she was still his family. Did he know?

As if able to sense what she was thinking, Luka spoke up. "Jule told me."

Marinette winced and looked down, ashamed and fully expecting to be reprimanded. She clasped her hands at her waist, trying to mentally prepare herself.

Then, he immediately followed with, "Well, she mumbled it, but I got what she said."

It wasn't quite a joke, but it wasn't anything critical either. Marinette peeked back up at him, her brows scrunched together in confusion. He was smiling sadly, either understanding her or trying to be the sympathetic empath she'd always admired him for.

She averted her gaze, not feeling worthy of making eye contact with him. Sinking back against the wall, she sunk down to her earlier position and muttered, "I-it was for the best. I'm just... better off alone." She flinched at the sting in her chest that the words caused, but continued, "I won't hurt anyone that way. They can't be disappointed in me if we're not friends."

There was a pause, at which point Luka took a few steps closer, still maintaining a distance between them but also closing the gap significantly. "Why do you think you'll hurt people?"

She almost scoffed at that. "You would know why more than anyone, Luka." Though she still avoided looking at his face, she could see his fingers twitch from the corner of her vision. "I lie. I'm a liar! I'm just—" She spread her arms wide. "—I'm going to lie for the rest of my life, and ditch everyone and make them sad and they'll never know why!"

She'd tried to say it in an exaggerated tone to keep things light, but the tears started up. She held them back as best as she could, determined not to cry again when she'd already cried so much.

She heard Luka take a few steps closer, and he observed quietly, "But you don't want to."

"Of course not! But it doesn't matter! I should've known from the start that making friends was a mistake but I did it anyway!" She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "I can't keep friends! I can't keep a boyfriend! I can barely keep this secret a secret!"

She didn't have to see his face to know that he was processing that. "...You can't tell me."

It was a realization for him, a mix of emotions in his voice and none of which she could place. She imagined he'd thought that it was a secret she'd chosen not to share with him, but that wasn't true.

She lowered her hands from her face. "I can't. I mean, not like—physically can't—it's not like the world would end if I did—" She halted briefly, stiffening at an unwelcome memory of Paris destroyed and underwater. "—o-or, maybe it would! But, it was never about trust, Luka! I trust you, I trust you so much, and I want to tell you so bad but I can't! It hurts but I can't! No one's supposed to know!"

She clutched her head, realizing that the conversation was spiraling downwards fast. She was torn between thinking that she'd said too much and then regretting how little she'd said when she'd broken up with him.

Luka took the final steps to close the distance between then, kneeling down to be closer to her level. "Marinette, I—I can't imagine what your secret could be, but it hurts watching you tear yourself apart like this."

"Well maybe that's how it's supposed to be!" she declared as she met his gaze, his eyes going wide in a mixture of pain and shock. She blinked rapidly, trying to fight the tears. "Maybe I'm just supposed to stay sad and alone forever! I have to do it all myself because that's the rule and it's my burden to carry!"

His heart was clearly breaking for her and it just made everything worse. He reached out to her, hovering his hand over her shoulder as a test and then settling it down with a feather-light touch when she didn't pull away. "I won't force you to tell me, and it's hard to say anything when I don't know what you're going through, but..." He hesitated, clearly feeling like it wasn't his place to say but being unable to help himself. "Couffaines break rules when we want to - when we know we have to - and I don't want to see you break instead."

She raised a hand, tempted to pull his hand from her shoulder, but stopped herself. "I-I don't have a choice. It's too dangerous. I can't let people close to me; I didn't even want to break up with you. You're amazing and sweet and I feel like I can tell you anything, but..." She looked down, defeated. "...you deserve better than this..."

He squeezed her shoulder, though whether it was a mix of offense at the comment, an attempt to comfort her, or both, she wasn't sure. "I can only tell you that I'd never tell anyone if I knew." He paused, as if to consider something, then added, "Even if it wasn't me - if it was someone else you trusted - I just don't want you to carry this alone."

She glanced up at him without moving her head, her mouth moving to reply but she ended up choking, then coughing in response to the air she'd just lost. Luka's free hand found her other shoulder as he leaned towards her, all the concern and love she could ever ask for being offered in his eyes.

He seemed to want to continue their conversation, but found something else to prioritize instead. "Do you want anything? Have you drank any water lately?"

The question caught her off guard until she remembered her coughing and mentally acknowledged that she might've been neglecting herself far more than she should've. Luka's hearing was on point, and she figured he must've heard the dryness of her throat.

She let out a small noise instead of a reply, no words given but Luka understood anyway. He stood up, his hands lingering on her for as long as possible before he turned and began to head back to the Liberty.

She watched him go, an ache in her chest even if she knew he'd come back. It reminded her of the day in the TV station where he confessed and she hadn't given him an answer, or when he'd comforted her after the break-up and she'd just taken it without a word back. It was all left incomplete, with him merely giving her  that respectful smile that told her that she only had to say what she was ready for.

But ready for what, exactly? Ready to talk? Ready for him?

Ready for herself?

"...I—" Her mouth moved on its own, her body leaning just slightly towards him as she said the words she'd always wanted to. "—I'm Ladybug."

It was practically a whisper - equivalent to a pin dropping - but Luka froze nonetheless, his foot mid-raise to take a step that never came. He'd heard her, and he finally moved as he turned to look at her, expression unreadable.

That's when the moment caught up with her, and the panic followed suit. "O-oh—oh no. Oh, I said it—you know—you—" She clutched at her capris, desperate to ground herself, but the hyperventilating was beginning to start, almost harmonizing with the sound of Luka's footsteps as he hurried over to her, closing the gap between them much faster than he had previously.

In an instant, he was on his knees in front of her, arms wrapped around her and lifting her slightly as he pulled her into a hug. She gasped in surprise, still blinking back tears as her senses registered that he was there: his body heat warming her, the fabric of his jacket against her face, the calming color combination of blues and blacks, and the faded scent of his body wash.

"L-luka," she whimpered, "I'm so sorry. Y-you're in danger—"

"It's okay," he assured softly, then again as if to be certain that she heard it, "It's okay."

She hesitated, her breathing still uneven, but she willed herself to release her capris - her fingers feeling stiff from how tightly she'd gripped them - so she could grab at his jacket instead. He responded in kind by hugging her tighter; too tight for a normal hug but just tight enough to bring her back down to reality.

"You're not alone anymore, Marinette," he whispered, "and I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

That did it, and the tears overflowed. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to however much fabric her hands could grasp as she buried her face into his shoulder. No matter how strongly she hugged him, he didn't complain, simply letting her take whatever she needed from him.

In the silence of the embrace, she could finally hear the river's melody.

— — — — —

Marinette clasped her hands together on the couch, her breathing starting to steady as she watched Luka pour her fourth cup of water since she'd gotten there, the first three of which she'd downed in mere seconds. It was just the two of them there, which was comforting, as Juleka had apparently gone to Rose's house for the rest of the day and Anarka was... well, Anarka, and wouldn't be back until who knew when.

Luka returned to Marinette with a smile, offering the full cup of water to her. She reached for it, then stopped as she noticed how badly her hand was shaking. Taking a few more controlled breaths, she offered him a smile and gently pushed the cup towards him.

At his confused look, she observed, "You haven't been taking care of yourself either."

He opened his mouth, possibly to argue, then looked away from her, his eyes darting around at nothing. She could see the internal conversation in his head, playing out a scenario where he would try to insist, she would insist back that three cups was more than enough for her and he'd also taken none himself, and they would go back and forth until he relented.

His gaze softened, the conclusion to the mental argument clearly reached as he took a few sips from the cup. Rather than sitting on the couch, he sat down on the wooden table in front of it - a typical Couffaine move - so he could face her. Then, offering her a grateful smile, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

She smiled back at him, but it faltered as she stared at her lap, taking the time to legitimately think about the question. She ran her hands along her legs in a slow motion, hoping that it would stop any shakiness somehow.

"...Scared," she answered. "Nervous. Worried. Anxious." She pursed her lips as she realized that she was just listing off synonyms at that point.

Luka leaned towards her, resting his hand over one of the ones on her lap. "But, better than before?" he guessed.

Eyes half-lidded and fond, she nodded. "Yeah, and..." She turned the hand underneath his upwards so she could hold it. "I'm really glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here too," he whispered, as if to make sure that this moment was only for the two of them.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each other's presence. Marinette was a mess of emotions, but refused to let go of the hand he'd offered her, her thumb stroking along the back of it.

"...Luka," she said after a few seconds of contemplation.

He didn't respond verbally, but he'd also already given her his full attention, and she knew he was listening.

She continued, "You're the last person I'd ever want to lose. If Shadow Moth finds out that you know—"

"If," he gently interjected, though his eyes encouraged her to go on.

"He'll use you. He'll take advantage of you. I don't want anything to happen to you, but I don't want you to leave either, because I really like you and you make me happy and better and—" She huffed, frustrated by the conundrum. "It feels like it's my fault. If I was stronger, or I wasn't so emotional, I..."

"Marinette."

She looked up at the tenderness in his voice. He set his cup down on the table, then slowly pushed himself off, crouching down in front of her as if to make himself appear as small as possible. His other hand found her free one and he held it, making their hand holding perfectly mutual.

"Do you remember the day we met? When my mom got akumatized?"

She nodded. "Yeah, of course."

He nodded in return, going on to explain, "You needed me to hide you, and I needed you to go get—" He caught himself, half-chuckling as the identity revelation adjusted his memories of that day. "—be Ladybug."

Marinette managed a smile. "You were covering for me, even back then."

He smiled back, looking almost too proud of that fact. "And we needed each other. No one can do everything alone, Marinette, so don't say you're sorry for the feelings that made up the song that's been stuck in my head ever since that day."

She swallowed involuntarily at the reminder of his confession. Judging from his smile widening, he noticed it.

"It's hard learning an instrument all by yourself," he continued, "and sad not having anyone to play to."

"And you want to be the whole crowd?" she asked quietly, her gaze drawn to their joined hands.

"Yeah," he answered, not missing a beat.

She took a breath, knowing it was too late to change things but still wanting to acknowledge the decision anyway. "O...okay. Thank you, Luka."

They exchanged loving smiles, and Marinette could've sworn that the eye contact alone was keeping her heart rate down. The future was still nerve-wracking, but she'd been afraid of it even before she'd told Luka her secret, so at least now she had someone who understood her and who she could talk to about it.

The conversation mutually ended there, but then Luka - wholly unprompted - let out an exaggerated sigh and tilted his head back. Curious, Marinette asked, "What is it?"

He grinned at her, a glint in his eyes that made it clear that he was in a teasing mood now that the atmosphere had lightened. "Does this mean I have to watch Chat Noir flirt with my girlfriend?"

She snorted, opening her mouth to reply before stopping as the words behind the joke caught up to her. She leaned forward and squeezed his hand, eyes wide with hope. "Girlfriend?"

He nodded without hesitation. "You said you didn't want to break up with me, Marinette, and I didn't want to break up with you either."

"Y-yeah, but—" She frowned, conflicted. "I'll still have to leave? Nothing's changed except you knowing why."

"I didn't date you so that we could go on dates," he replied. When she tilted her head in confusion at him, he briefly averted his gaze, a hint of shyness appearing on his face before he steeled himself up and looked back at her, clarifying, "I just wanted to be your boyfriend, dates or no dates."

"Oh. O-oh." And that was all she had to say about that, any coherent words burned away from the blush forming on her face.

Luka smiled hopefully, and Marinette quickly decided that bashfulness looked good on him. "So, if you want to make this work with me, then—"

"Yes!" she replied immediately, untangling her hands from his so she could push herself off the couch.

His eyes lit up, his arms spreading wide as she dropped into his lap, and he didn't recoil when she arched up to kiss him, her movements quick to ensure that there would've been no chance for them to be interrupted. She wrapped her arms around him, neither caring about the awkward position on the floor due to being lost in each other's touch.

There was a soft click when the kiss broke, Marinette promptly pulling herself against him and nestling her face near his collarbone, now able to properly enjoy the scent she'd missed for all those dreadful days they'd been apart.

Following up on what he'd told her underneath the bridge, she tightened her hold and whispered, "I love you too, Luka."

Snuggled so close to him, she swore that his heartbeat picked up, though she didn't have to feel it to know that he was happy, what with the way his hands shook against her and how he placed an immediate kiss on the top of her head. She let herself get absorbed in the moment, allowing herself to smile and think only of Luka, the one who respected her choices and feelings from the day they met.

There was no one else she'd rather share her identity with.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under The Floorboards pt. IIII

(Technoblade X Reader): Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V

Whipping the sweat off your brow you placed the honey jars you collected on the ground, Phil really built this farm efficiently. However, that didn’t stop you needing to collect honey pots here and there, now that the vault was complete you could actually use the honey for normal things. Technoblade would never admit it but he loved when you put honey in his tea, contrary to popular belief he wasn’t a fan of plain black tea or coffee. You rolled up your sleeves and adjusted the sunhat that sat lazily on your head against your better judgment you had left your armor inside. The only thing on your person was a netherite ax Techno had enchanted for you, it was an effective weapon but without your armor, you were a bit of a sitting duck. As the bees buzzed and bumped lazily into each other, you couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight. They were just so silly. You picked up the crate of jars and turned around, your eyes narrowed as you saw some movement by the trees, it was still too early for Tommy and Technoblade to be back...so just who was snooping around the property. You felt very naked in your sun hat and overalls, especially if it was Dream himself that you were about to encounter. Your worry only increased as you noticed four men all in netherite armor walking towards the house, their swords were drawn. You had a feeling that these were the men who took Technoblade the day prior. They were like a little gang all dressed the same way, bloody aprons and all they really had the executioner vibes down. 

    “Hello, gentlemen.” You smiled giving them a wave while you adjusted the box of honey, “beautiful day isn’t it?” 

The first to answer was a man who had a scar from the tip of his eyebrow down to the bottom of his lip. He sent you a smile and you noticed a tooth missing from the upper row, a navy blue beanie held his dark hair in place. 

    “Very beautiful, it’s always a good day when the sun is shining.” He mused the sun in question reflected beautifully across all their netherite armor. The one thing you decided to leave inside, you weren’t intimidated nope not at all. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

    “(Y/N).” You responded with a hum, “Is there something that I can help you all with today?” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed two of the men moved to surround you, they thought they were slick. The only one who didn’t move was the tallest of the children there, he looked to be half Enderman. He also looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now poor thing. Drawing your gaze back to the other three men, you noticed one was Tommy’s age and had small horns atop his head, along with goat-like ears. A burn scar also took up half of his face. It made you frown distastefully, what was with these kids getting traumatized? First Tommy and now the half enderman and the goat kid, you couldn’t adopt all of them, well you could but it’d be a lot of work. The other looked to be part fox after all the big orange ears and the fluffy tail was dead give away, wait didn’t Ghostbur say his son was a fox. “Are you Fundy?” You asked, suddenly tilting your head to the side.

    “How do you know my name?” Fundy’s face flushed a little and he shuffled on his feet, his hand twitching to grab the sword that was at his side. 

    “I talked to your father earlier today. I’m assuming that’s how you found me?” You took the hat off your head and rested it on Carl’s stable. The fox gave a reluctant nod of confirmation you licked your lips and put your hands behind your back. “So? Do you have a problem with Technoblade or just me specifically?”

    “Wow, she’s not even a little bit ashamed.” Quackity mused and you frowned, “We’re here because your boyfriend blew up our country. He also disgraced our President right Tubbo? Don’t know if you’re aware of that or not but he escaped his punishment. So we intend to make him repent.” He walked towards you and you took a step away from him. 

    “That’s far enough thank you.” You held up your hand in hopes it would stop his trek towards you, Quackity did pause for a moment. He let out a chuckle and smiled. He thought your tough attitude was cute, but he was clearly mocking you. 

Jackass. 

    “Quackity maybe we should leave her be...she didn’t do anything.” The young goat kid murmured his ears flicking as he looked up at you. 

    “Quiet Tubbo. Let the adults speak,” Quackity snapped at him before clearing his throat and looking back at you. “Listen (Y/N) was it? We’re going to have to ask that you come with us. If you don’t we’ll have to take you by force.”

    “Wait, couldn't Technoblade have trained her?” The half enderman spoke holding up his finger in the air but no one seemed to pay him any attention. 

    “I guess force it is. Although the fight is a little unfair.” You took out your ax and twirled it in your hand, “Something tells me you don’t exactly like fair fights.” Fundy took a hesitant step backward not really wanting to lose a life for this of all things, but he pulled out his sword just in case. Clicking your tongue in distaste you sent a bloodthirsty smile their way, one that rivaled Technoblade, “Come at me.” 

Without hesitation, Quackity charged at you with his sword he didn’t aim to kill, just disarm or injure. You blocked the swing with the wooden part of your ax and spun around just in time to dodge an attack from Tubbo. You managed to elbow him in the back and he stumbled forward into Quackity, the man made a grunting sound before shoving Tubbo off of him and into the snow. Fundy moved next and managed to land a hit on the side of your arm, you hissed loudly glaring daggers at the fox. His ears pressed against his head and he let out a small whimper, “sorry!”

    “Don’t apologize to her!” Quackity groaned, “You guys are the worst gang ever.” He slapped his forehead as you readjusted your posture, “I have to do everything myself.” Quackity snarled charging at you again you sidestepped out of the way. As he stumbled trying to regain himself he knocked over the honey pots and they shattered against the ground. You swung your ax and managed to land a hit on him in the back of the legs, he let out a strangled yelp and fell on his face into the snow like Tubbo had done earlier. Yanking out the ax out of the leader of the gang blood splattered all over the ground and stained the snow. Little red beads dripped off the ax as you held it by your side, the man only let out another scream as it was torn out of him. 

    “Back. Off.” You repeated again baring your teeth with a hiss, “Turn around and go back to L’manburg and I won’t kill you. Got it.”  The ax was pointed at all of them, you saw the half enderman nod vigorously, 

    “Yes ma’am.” He nodded rapidly grabbing Tubbo and Fundy by the arm and pulled them back, the three of them watched as Quackity snarled and backed up to join them. You watched them cower and you dropped your ax on the ground so you could press the palm of your hand into the wound on your arm. You quickly turned and ran back into your home to collect bandages and fix yourself up, blood speckled the floor as you made your way into the bathroom. You tore off your overalls and shirt, washing out the wound before wrapping your arm in bandages. You didn’t know how long you stood there in front of the mirror but you looked worse for wear. 

Technoblade was going to lose his shit.

---

All Technoblade could think about on their way back to his retirement home, was you. He could only put up with Tommy for so many hours until he needed to talk to literally anyone else. He was ready to get your relaxing date night underway; he could already feel your fingers running through his hair braiding his as you went. He hummed fondly listening as the voices called him simp repeatedly, he didn’t mind this time considering he was when it came to you. 

    “That’s still cringe chat.” He murmured to himself as Tommy continued to scream about something in the background, “Yeah, yeah I love her.” He heard the chat flip their shit and he fondly chuckled, intermixed with their happy cries there was a distinct sound of ‘E’ as well as ‘nerd.’ He almost didn’t hear Tommy’s worried shouting. He frowned and rolled his eyes back into his skull, 

    “What Tommy?” 

    “Technoblade! Technoblade!” The teen bumped back into him, Technoblade grunted and looked down at him. He followed Tommy’s eyes and spotted the blood littered snow outside his house. Technoblade paused and his vision went red around the edges, his eyes stayed trained on the bloodstains as the voices began to roar within his skull. His head shot up and he saw the honey box spilled over on the ground, glass littered the snow, your hat hanging loosely on Carl’s old stable. 

     “T-Technoblade.” Tommy stuttered again looking up at the pig-man, seeing how glazed over his eyes looked. He swore steam was coming out of Technoblade’s nose and his hand drew out his pickaxe gripping it so tight his knuckles turned white. He felt his tusks grow in size and his face began to shift into his pig form. Tommy’s voice was drowned out by the flood that was the voices in his head: 

‘SHE’S GONE. THEY HAVE HER. KILL THEM ALL. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. WE DEMAND BLOOD. E. SAVE HER. YOU’RE A FAILURE. YOU DIDN’T PROTECT HER. SLAUGHTER ALL OF THEM. SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. SHE NEVER HURT ANYBODY. YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’ 

Technoblade took a step forward to which Tommy rapidly backed up in response. He’s never seen Techno this gone before, oh shit he has it bad for (Y/N). However, Tommy didn’t make a move to stop Technoblade; he didn’t want him to release that rage on him. Technoblade walked into the house, stepping on his glasses that fell off his face. He threw his door open with a loud slam, he needed potions and he needed a new sword. 

Whoever did this all their cannon lives were gone he’d make it long and torturous.

A soft voice broke him out of his stupor his entire body went rigid. 

    “Bubs…” He slowly turned around and came face to face with you, you looked so small, so delicate standing in the doorway. You were wearing your pajamas, soft blue with little sheep all over them. His ears twitched and his shoulders softened considerably seeing you standing safe in the doorway, however, he tensed again the minute he saw the bandages tied around your arm. Blood leaking through them, he growled eyes locking in on the spot as you made soft shushing sounds at him. 

‘SHE’S HURT. SHE’S ALIVE THOUGH. BUT SHE’S HURT, THEY NEED TO PAY. ATONE FOR WHAT THEY DID TO HER. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. SPILL THEIR BLOOD THEN MAKE OUT WITH HER. SHE’LL LOVE YOU MORE IF YOU DO. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’

Technoblade jumped feeling her hand caress his cheek, “Bubs it’s alright I’m okay.” Your voice was smooth and soothing, his eyes dilated as you spoke to him. His face shifting back to normal as he breathed heavily through his nose, “See?” You brought his head down to rest against your chest, it looked uncomfortable the way that he was bending. However, he could feel your heart beating in your chest, he made a soft whimper and grabbed onto your shoulders his pink hair tickled your chin. You brought your hands up to run his fingers through his hair as he finally calmed down enough to ignore the voices for the time being. Right now they were just commenting on how nice and warm her hands were anyway.

    “What happened to you? There was blood everywhere I was so scared.” His voice broke a little bit as he pulled away from you. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest Technoblade had never looked so broken. 

    “The butcher squad came and attacked me. They wanted to use me to get to you but I fought them off just like you taught me.” You couldn’t help but smile proudly at him and he let out a disbelieving laugh. His hands moved from your shoulders to your back as he cradled you gently in his arms, you both stood there rocking back and forth together until Technoblade was satisfied. 

    “That’s my girl.” He finally murmured backing away from you, you flushed at the compliment. Whenever he called you that it made you flush all over, you let out a loud flustered whine and whacked him on the chest. Technoblade laughed at your flustered expression, it was a rare moment the tables were flipped like this and Technoblade was going to take full advantage of the situation. “Princess what’s with that look? Am I, thee Technoblade, making you flustered? I know I’m a lot to handle, I beat Dream once, I never die, I’m not homeless. Guess what?” 

    “What?” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle as he circles you eyeing you up and down. 

    “I’m single.” 

    “Oh really?” You cocked an eyebrow, “I thought you had a girlfriend.” You twirled your hair around your fingers and you felt his strong hands rest on your waist. 

    “Hm I don’t think so. You might need to refresh my memory,” Technoblade mused kissing your neck tenderly. 

    “Well she’s stunningly gorgeous, and tough as nails,” Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned back against him. “She absolutely adores you and how protective you are of her, and how much of a gentle giant you are.” He made a noise of protest and rested his chin on the top of your head. You could tell he was pouting at you, 

    “See, not only is that super cringe but also factually incorrect. I am not a gentle giant, I just committed vast sums of minor terrorism and I also kill orphans so what would my girlfreind say to that huh?” He huffed clicking his tongue distastefully. 

    “She would say that you’re right but also she sees the way you take care of Carl, and how you put up with Tommy. You’re totally brothers. That makes you at least a little bit soft” 

    “Not brothers and I don’t like him.” 

    “Right sure,” You giggled a little and kissed his chin lightly. 

Technoblade let out an indignant sound before muttering, “Oh we should probably tell Tommy you aren’t kidnapped. Also discuss what to do about L’manburg now that they know you exist.” You blocked out that last part and made a beeline outside to find Tommy. The teenager in question was fumbling with his hands over by his cobblestone tower, you ran over to him and engulfed him in a hug. 

    “(Y/N)!” He shouted letting out a disbelieving laugh hugging you back with a childish smile. “You’re okay! Holy fuck I totally thought you were dead and shit! Technoblade was going fucking apeshit! His face went all pig like n’ shit totally thought he was gonna kill everyone for you! Not that I was worried.” He added quickly shoving you away crossing his arms. 

    “Of course you weren’t THE Tommy is never worried.” 

    “Yeah exactly Miss Blade you get me.” You smiled fondly at him and you ruffled his hair and he shouted at you to stop. You did so sensing Technoblade approach the both of you, Techno interlocked your hand with his own and squeezed it tightly. “You chill now Big T?” 

    “I’m always chill Tommy. Only nerds aren’t chill.” He mused with a scoff, “Hence why I always call you a nerd.” 

    “WHAT THE FUCK TECHNOBLADE! I AM ALWAYS CHILL! I’M THE CHILLEST MAN ALIVE I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW!” 

    “Stop shouting,” Technoblade groaned burying his face in your hair as you laughed fondly at their antics. Although L’manburg knew about your existence now, and although you knew Dream probably wasn’t too far behind in learning that knowledge either, you felt everything was going to be okay. 

All you needed was each other, Technoblde, Tommy, Phil and you. Together you four were gonna do great things, you just knew it.

~~~

I do plan on making another part because people seem to be enjoying this story a lot more than I originally thought when I first posted it. Which is amazing thank you for all the love and support! New stuff is also in the works, thanks again for reading and enjoying! Stay safe guys! 🥰✨

[hoodiewithhorns]

Hmmm how about and argument scenario with Atsumu or Suna...or both 🥺

━  argument scenario with Atsumu and Suna ✧

ofc aw, also sorry if this is bad and out of character I still don't know much about these two (I'm wrapping up season 2) but I’ll do my best <3.

▲ cw : not proofread, established relationship, fem reader, crying , hurt + comfort, insecurities of abandonment , neglect, angst, slight jealousy, hint of smut at the end(for atsumu), all characters are 18+, MDNI. ▼

Atsumu 

- he had been in a bad mood from the start 

- he told you ahead of time he wasn’t feeling good so to surprise him, you went to go see him at one of his practices

- you brought him some fatty tuna and a few sports drinks to cheer up your lovely boyfriend

- arriving safe and sound with a bright smile eager to see your boyfriend

- only to find him talking to one of his fangirls, not one but 3 of them. laughing and smiling as they showered him in compliments and praise him for his athletic abilities he even let the girls touch him up for just a bit too long for your liking. 

〜 ☆

- you paused only to stare at the scene in front of you

- his brother disappointed in him, making signs that you were here waiting for him.

- he turned around to see you standing at the door frame of the gym a frozen expression plastered onto you as if you have just seen a ghost.

- those girls were pretty. prettier than you and the fact he let them touch up on him made your chest tighten. the gym was silent with only the sounds of volleyballs being thrown left and right. 

- you didn't say anything you just walked outside and waited for him to be done.

- he walked outside and drove you back home not even saying a single word.

he opened the door for you locking it once he entered as well. you still felt uneasy wanting an explanation as to why he would let those girls touch up on him like that. the way they touched his built physique left you a little hurt. you were sure if you brought it up to him it wouldn't be a problem right? just talk about it like a normal healthy couple does! right? of course!! you thought letting a few of the negative thoughts vanish from your mind.

you took a deep breath before you walked into the bedroom. Atsumu was sitting on your shared bed with his head against the headboard, scrolling through his phone watching videos to improve his spiking abilities. he seemed to be in a relaxed state, but he didn't spare a glance when you walked in. maybe he didn't hear you? you thought to yourself. the uneasy feeling overwhelming you feeling you'd breakdown at any second. 

“hey atsu.” you spoke lightly to him easing your way up to the bed. 

“what.” his tone clearly annoyed by you. you took a step back surprised by his tone and how he responded to you. he never replied with “what” it was always “yes?” or “yes my love?” taking another deep breath looking up to try and fight back your tears that were ready to stain your face at any minute now, “y-you okay baby?” you thought it’d be smarter to ask if he was still feeling okay and not bring up the fangirls..but you were dead wrong since it only set him off even more.

“I'm fine.” he grunted back at you still not looking up at you. he tightened the grip on his phone scrolling and staring at the videos more intensely now. “o-okay baby..um..” it wasn’t a good time to bring it up you already knew he was pissed off but you just wanted to get to the bottom of it immediately. if he was In a bad mood why would he talk to those girls all happy and giggly but with you a salty attitude? it didn't make sense you needed to know. “ why were those girls touching you like that.. were they your friends..?” that was the last straw for him he placed his phone down getting up to face you as you took a few steps back.

he was now hovering over you looking down at you full of anger, shivering at his mean gaze. “what's the issue? it’s just some fangirls who saw I was in a bad mood and wanted to cheer me up not like you who just walked away.” your hands were shaking at this point you felt sick to your stomach at how cruel he talked to you. how could you just stand there while girls were touching him and laughing clearly not caring he has a girlfriend?? what were you supposed to do walk towards him as if they weren’t there?

“but a-atsu I wanted to come cheer you up I made you some of your favorites-” 

“why do you care so much about some silly fangirls huh? don't we live together?? isn't that enough for you? but nooo you always have to think about yourself don't you?” he was being unreasonable at this point he knows how you get when fangirls are all over him. it was one of your insecurities that he’d reassure you didn't have to worry about since he’d never leave you, but here he was calling you selfish for caring about that.

finally, the gears in your head letting the tears promised to fall, fall down your cheeks. you sniffled rubbing your eyes as fast as you could to not let him see you but it was too late he already did. avoiding eye contact you spoke sniffling up your words.

“i just w-wanted to make you feel better why are you acting like this atsumu..”

you cried looking down as your tears hit the ground. his face switching from annoyance to concern, he messed up and he knows it. reaching out to hug you, you moved away from him and stormed out of the bedroom heading to the living room planting yourself on the couch as you hid underneath the covers to cry your little heart out. he followed you out the bedroom looking over at the meal and drinks you had planned for him. his favorite food and sports drink with a note written in your pretty handwriting he loved so much.

“I hope this makes you feel better baby! I love you so much!♡ xoxo”

- with much love y/n 

feeling his heart crack realizing the number he did on you just now. you had every right to be upset he knew you seeing him around other girls would’ve set you off he just wanted to appear as charming as possible. if his fangirls knew he was in a bad mood it would’ve caused his reputation to sink to the ground. still, he knows he shouldn’t have let them touch him like that especially if he had you at home. he let out a sigh walking up to the couch sitting right next to you with his head thrown back on the couch eyes never leaving you, watching and hearing you carefully. 

your sniffles did so much damage to him it already hurt him when he saw you cry, but crying because of something inconsiderate he did hurt him even more.

he pulled the covers down to reveal your redden tear-stained faced stilling sniffling but not fighting back when he pulled you into his chest. how could you fight back? you loved him you never want to consider leaving him as an option. you just wanted to fix things and so you let out a soft apology as he rubbed comforting circles on your back.

“no baby I'm sorry...I was being stupid and was in a bad mood but that doesn't give me the right to hurt you like this..” his voice soft yet firm making you ease up more into his chest as you sat in his lap to face him wrapping your arms around his neck.

he looked like a sad puppy he felt bad he really did which brought you to kiss him on the lips he smiled into the kiss feeling relieved. this lasted for what felt like forever. you pulled away and he rubbed the last bit of tears off your pretty eyes.

“I'm sorry baby I really am..I was like..an idiot sandwich you know?” you giggled at his joke making him smile as if he just won back his girlfriend. “it's okay atsu I love you.. please don't forget that okay?” he nodded pulling you in once more for a much more deeper and passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist while his hands roamed your body. letting out a soft moan into the kiss, his hands went under your shirt as he pulled away smirking.

“why don't you let me make it up to you pretty girl let me show you that those silly fangirls don’t mean anything to me yeah?”

Suna 

- he was always busy with volleyball

- which meant coming home really late.

- you supported him nonetheless adoring how talented he looked going against teams

- you just felt..empty without him

- he wasn’t just your lover but... your best friend 

- you missed his touch and his presence in general

- he kept coming home late from practice each week making you miss him more and more

- some nights he wouldn't even come home and would stay at a teammate's apartment at the very last minute instead of coming home to cuddle you like how he always did.

 - this made your head spiral wondering if he even acknowledges how much you miss him. 

- you understand his practice and games end really late but still, you were his girlfriend a little reassurance through a phone call or a facetime would be enough for you to sleep alright for a night.

- his texts also caused you to feel more alone back then he would spam you with stupid stuff the twins were doing back in high school and even a little bit now with stuff his teammates were doing with the occasional “i love yous” and the simple but sweet heart emojis he’d send. now it wasn't even like that. 

you glanced at your phone and it was 11:34 PM and still no text from him or sign of his arrival. did he even care at this point? you wondered tossing and turning in your shared bed scrolling through Instagram. your eyes lit up when he messaged you. hoping maybe it would be an i love you or an apology for being so neglectful towards you. 

“hey. i’ll be coming home at 12.”

“okay tarō be safe. I love you♡”

read at 11:40 PM

you sighed feeling a little happy he at least was coming home soon. still, an I love you back would’ve been nice. you waited for him for a few more minutes trying your hardest not to fall asleep. it's been so long since you two been together or specifically seen each other. part of you was excited to see your boyfriend after weeks of not seeing him but part of you was upset. so many weeks of you being alone sleeping alone without his chest to cling on or his shoulder to lay on when you cried over your favorite shows.

you jolted up when you heard the door open finally, he was home, you happily walked to the front door. Suna took off his shoes before entering placing them at the front door. you greeted him kissing his cheek hugging him tightly, you missed this..you missed him.

“hey y/n. I'm tired do you mind?”

you pulled away looking up at his dissatisfied expression. first, he calls you by your actual name and then tells you to back off after god knows how long you’ve seen him. he walked past you heading straight to the bathroom to wash up. you stood there appalled at the fact he barely acknowledged you only to tell you back off. you couldn’t believe it but you tried to shrug it off, maybe he was in a bad mood? he’ll still cuddle you to sleep so you have that to look forward too!...you hoped.

when you walked back to the bedroom he was already going underneath the covers and you followed, going under them with him, while his back was facing you. you waited a while to see if he’d ask you if you wanted to cuddle. waiting... and still not a word not even a goodnight when he finally turned the lights off.

you missed him so much all you wanted was him to acknowledge you just a little. you moved closer to his back and hugged him from behind. 

“god, y/n why are you so needy all of a sudden?” rolling his eyes at you in annoyance. you moved your hands back to you sitting up to face him.

“why I’m so needy?? jeez tarō I don't know maybe I haven't seen my boyfriend in god knows how many weeks!” you snapped back at him causing him to get out of the bed. 

“It was 5 weeks it wasn’t even that bad!” he yelled back at you, you felt your heart become heavy looking at his eyes that had not a trace of love in them while your very own eyes felt heavy holding back tears.

“you’ve been coming home late all the damn time suna! sometimes you don't even show up! I miss you so much sometimes I....” you froze the tears finally starting to fall. “I don't even think you love me anymore..” 

he froze his eyes widening at your final words. how could he be so blind? his sweet girl had every right to be needy for him 5 weeks must've felt like an entirety to you and now that he finally gets home he's acting like an assshole to you pushing you away as if you were nothing but an obstacle. he sat back down on the bed to hug you. a genuine one full of love and regret. it was silent for a few minutes of just the two of you tight in each other's embrace. 

“I’m..sorry my love...I didn't mean to yell at you like that I miss you too I just..I'm sorry” he felt bad he didn't mean to hurt you. he knows he's at fault here and all he can do is mumble apologies while he pulls you close to him as he hides his face in the crook of your neck for comfort. you hugged back of course finally having him in your arms brought you joy. 

“it's okay tarō...I love you...we’ll be okay, okay?” he nodded planting soft kisses on your forehead. “I love you too baby..but let's go to bed my love it's getting late..” smiling he pulled you into his chest to cuddle you to sleep wiping the remaining tears you had still left in you. after a while you fell asleep in his chest while he watched you sleep peacefully.

“heh.. you’re such a crybaby .” he smiled pulling you in closer planting soft kisses on you trying not to wake you.

“I love you y/n I promise to make it all up to you.” 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Mo Xuanyu is banished from Koi Tower, but manages to take Wen Ning (or maybe a captured Nie Mingjue, your choice) with him. Now he has to figure out what to do with a well known fierce corpse. [🎶🎶 anon]

Crybabies - ao3

“Okay,” Xue Yang said, looking up at the ceiling with an expression that suggested he wanted to kill something and probably would, very soon. “What are you crying about now?”

“I don’t have any friends,” Mo Xuanyu explained. Xue Yang wasn’t allowed to kill him – Jin Guangyao said it would be politically inconvenient – so he felt moderately safe around the other man.

“What am I?” Xue Yang said. “Dirt?”

“Way too scary to be friends with someone like me.”

“…good point,” Xue Yang said. “You are kind of pathetic. A real crybaby.”

Mo Xuanyu was pretty used to statements like this.

“Actually,” Xue Yang said, and smiled. “That gives me an idea.”

-

Mo Xuanyu did not like Xue Yang’s idea.

“I don’t want these types of friends!” he wailed at the door, then, sniffling, turned around. “No offense meant.”

The two fierce corpses stared back at him.

“I’m sure you’re very nice,” Mo Xuanyu said, voice wavering. “Just very, uh…dead.”

Xue Yang cackled from outside the door. “I even took out their controls, just for you!” he sang out. “All the crybabies together in a single room. Have fun!”

And then his footsteps went away.

Shaking, sniffling, Mo Xuanyu turned to look at the two fierce corpses. It turned out they were chained to the wall, which was a bit of a relief.

“…are you the other crybabies?” he asked, curiosity temporarily overwhelming him. There was no one else in the room but them, but it seemed implausible.

Implausible, but apparently correct: tears started dripping down the face of one of the corpses.

“I want to go home,” he said, sounding genuinely miserable.

Mo Xuanyu looked at the other corpse.

“I want to go to his home,” he said, ducking his head and stuttering a little. He didn’t cry, but his eyes wrinkled up, like he wanted to but couldn’t. “It sounds nice.”

Mo Xuanyu had never heard of a home that sounded nice before.

“What’s it like?” he asked.

-

Mo Xuanyu really hated disappointing people.

It sometimes felt like he’d never done anything else: disappointed his mother when his father lost interest in him and stopped visiting, disappointed his aunt and her family by existing, disappointed his father after he turned out to be useless after he’d gone to all the effort of bringing him back to Lanling City, disappointed his teachers, disappointed his half-brother Jin Guangyao, disappointed – everyone, really.

So when he heard that he was probably going to get kicked out of Lanling, it wasn’t really a surprise. He’d long outworn his welcome, after all.

But then he also heard that they planned to send him back to Mo Manor and just – no.

He couldn’t.

He’d just have to disappoint everyone one more time.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to do this,” Wen Ning said, rubbing his wrists as if it would help return the circulation he didn’t have. “Friends or no friends.”

“They said I was going to have to go home,” Mo Xuanyu said, shivering from terror at the mere thought. “I don’t want to go back to my home. I want to go to his home.”

A-Jue wiped his eyes with his sleeve and sniffed. He was the biggest crybaby of the lot of them, but it wasn’t his fault; according to Wen Ning, he’d lost a big part of his memory and higher order thinking skills when he’d become a fierce corpse and spent any time that he wasn’t murdering people in a crazy frenzy of rage on Jin Guangyao’s orders at the mental age of about seven or eight.

It also didn’t help that, out of the three of them, he was Jin Guangyao’s favorite.

It was not a good thing, being Jin Guangyao’s favorite.  

“We’re going home?” he asked, looking between them, watery eyes and all. “Will Sangsang be there?”

“Maybe?” Mo Xuanyu said, and looked at Wen Ning, who shrugged helplessly. Neither of them had any younger siblings, and Wen Ning hadn’t known anything about politics long before he’d died; he’d been in the dark rather deliberately. “Hopefully.”

“We should try to avoid being seen,” Wen Ning said wisely. “I have an idea.”

-

“This cart stinks,” A-Jue mumbled, knees pulled to his chest. Even folded up, he was nearly as big as Mo Xuanyu was stretched out. “I hate radishes.”

“I hate radishes too,” Wen Ning said. He looked like he wished he could cry, looking at them, but then again he looked like that a lot; he’d been the first one brought back, so he hadn’t kept the ability to actually shed tears, which was awful and unfair and something they’d have to fix as soon as they had some time and weren’t being chased.

“This was your idea,” Mo Xuanyu pointed out.

“I said it’d work, I didn’t say we’d enjoy it,” Wen Ning said, and Mo Xuanyu had to admit he had a point. No one would look for two fierce corpses and one runaway teenager in the back of a radish cart, and the farmer driving them in the general direction of Qinghe had been more than happy to accept some gold in exchange for not saying a word about them.

(“How d’you know I won’t take your money and sell you out anyway?” he’d asked before they set out.

“Because if you did, we’d prioritize ripping your throat out before we got captured?” Wen Ning suggested. Mo Xuanyu elbowed A-Jue, who obligingly stretched out his hand to demonstrate the length of his reach, the strength of his arm, and the length of his sharp nails.

“…good reason.”)

The ride only got them a day or so of travel north before the farmer had to make a turn that led him further away from Qinghe rather than towards, but they were in the countryside, not a city, and that was already something.

“We can make the rest by foot,” Wen Ning decided, and A-Jue put Mo Xuanyu on his back so that he wouldn’t slow them down. It was surprisingly comfortable. “I hope you’re right about your sect, A-Jue.”

“I am,” A-Jue said. “Sangsang will be there. He’ll know what to do.”

“Isn’t he only two years old?” Mo Xuanyu asked suspiciously.

“If I’m big, he’s big,” A-Jue pointed out. “And if I’m dead, he’s sect leader. It’ll be fine.”

-

Mo Xuanyu was nominated to be the one to go in and try to get an audience with the sect leader of Qinghe on account of him being the only one not dead.

It was a very compelling argument.

He got into the main city without a problem, gate or no gate, and then walked up to one of the guards outside the main clan complex. “Uh,” he said, fidgeting. “How do I get to see the sect leader?”

The guards looked at him in pity.

“Tell us what you want him for and we can direct you to the appropriate person to help you,” one of them said, not without kindness.

“I’m pretty sure the sect leader is the appropriate person, though…”

“Maybe you haven’t heard,” the other said. “But Sect Leader Nie isn’t actually good at anything.”

“I’m supposed to find him,” Mo Xuanyu said stubbornly. “Just him.”

“Kid. Listen. It’s not happening.”

Mo Xuanyu knew he’d screw this up. “Can you at least pass on a message?” he said hopelessly. “Tell Sangsang that I have something he’d be interested in –”

“Hold up,” the first guard said. “Sangsang?”

“…isn’t that his name?”

The two guards looked at each other. “Maybe you should go in,” the second one said.

“In fact,” the first one said. “We’re going to insist on it.”

-

“Please stop crying,” the young man with the fan and the frills said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m under arrest!” Mo Xuanyu howled, tears and snot streaming down his face. “I’ve never been under arrest before!”

“I’m pretty sure that was just an overreaction,” the young man said soothingly. “They didn’t really arrest you, they were just being mean and exaggerating. Weren’t they?”

He looked at the two guards by the door, and Mo Xuanyu followed his gaze.

They both nodded.

“Sorry,” one of them said.

“Didn’t mean it,” the other said.

“Big mistake.”

“Won’t happen again.”

“Do you accept their apology?” the young man said, and Mo Xuanyu nodded. “Good, good. Now go – no, not you, them. You stay where you are.”

Mo Xuanyu sheepishly sat back down.

“Now,” the young man said, putting his elbows on the table. “You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Uh, maybe?” Mo Xuanyu said. “I was at the Jin sect for a while, but they kicked me out.”

The young man blinked, then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Oh,” he said. “I see. No wonder you’re scared of getting arrested.”

Mo Xuanyu wasn’t sure he understood the connection. Wasn’t being arrested scary everywhere?

“Different question,” the young man said. He was playing with his fan in his hands and not really looking at Mo Xuanyu directly, which was a relief; it made him feel like the other man didn’t really care that much about the answer. “The Nie sect leader…who told you he was called Sangsang?”

“Uh,” Mo Xuanyu said. “It’s a bit complicated. You see, he doesn’t remember things very well, but A-Jue said –”

The fan snapped in two in the young man’s suddenly clenched hands.

-

It turned out that Nie Huaisang – that was the sect leader’s actual name – was just as much of a crybaby as the rest of them, which he really should have made clear from the beginning. Mo Xuanyu wouldn’t have been nearly as afraid of him if he’d known that.

As it was, he was still hugging a somewhat confused A-Jue (mostly marveling at how large his Sangsang had gotten) and crying his heart out while blubbering a whole lot of incoherent things, so Wen Ning patted the ground next to him and Mo Xuanyu went to sit.

“Is this a good sign?” he checked, and Wen Ning nodded.

“The Nie sect is pretty strong,” he said. “They’ll be able to protect us. Well, the two of you, anyway, I don’t know about me –”

“I don’t think surnames are really the most important thing right now,” Nie Huaisang said, finally pulling away and wiping his red eyes. “You helped bring my da-ge back home; you can stay as long as you like.”

“It really is a nice home,” Mo Xuanyu whispered to Wen Ning, who looked a little impressed.

“I told you,” A-Jue said proudly. He still had an arm wrapped around Nie Huaisang and wasn’t letting go – they’d offered to help Nie Huaisang out of his grip earlier, but he’d politely refused – and he seemed to be settling in very well to his older brother role. It was a bit strange to adjust to, but he was still A-Jue in the end. “I have the best home.”

“It’s nice enough,” Nie Huaisang said, still a bit teary-eyed. “Right. Enough feelings. I need you to tell me everything you remember about your time in Lanling.”

“…everything?” Mo Xuanyu said.

“Everything relevant,” Nie Huaisang clarified.

“You’re not going to like it,” Wen Ning said.

“Probably not, no. Tell me anyway.”

-

Mo Xuanyu patted Nie Huaisang on the back as he started trying to throw up again – it was all bile and dry heaves by now. It was a human failing that they shared, and the fierce corpses didn’t, although they were sympathetic enough.

“It’s not that bad,” Wen Ning offered. “We’re not really – awake, during much of it. The worst parts.”

That didn’t seem to help.

“He mostly only got mad at me,” A-Jue said, hovering anxiously. “He didn’t like that I didn’t remember him. Said it was no fun. So he didn’t spend that much time with me.”

“I hate him,” Nie Huaisang said. His voice was raspy, his eyes red, and he looked a little bit scary. “I’m going to destroy him.”

“Okay,” A-Jue said at once, because he was a big old softie as well as a crybaby. “We can destroy him. No problem. Just don’t be sad, Sangsang.”

Nie Huaisang’s lip trembled, which rather destroyed the scary effect. “Okay, da-ge,” he said. “I won’t be sad. You’re going to stay here at home with me, and then we’ll focus on making you better, okay?”

“Uh,” Wen Ning said.

“Not the corpse thing,” Nie Huaisang clarified. “The – memory thing.”

“You can fix that?” Mo Xuanyu said, surprised. “How? Senior Jin and Senior Xue both tried really hard and couldn’t manage it.”

“Yes, well,” Nie Huaisang said, and rubbed his eyes. “They don’t know that da-ge was a little kid the first time he picked up Baxia. I think that dying cut off his connection to her, and that she kept everything that was – you know – after. So maybe reconnecting them…”

“That means you’ll be grown up again!” Mo Xuanyu said to A-Jue, who seemed pleased. “That’s great.”

“I’m going to need your help, though,” Nie Huaisang said. He was mostly looking at Wen Ning. “No matter what da-ge says, you helped do – a lot of things, and if we’re going to bring down Jin Guangyao…I’m going to need help.”

“We’ll help you,” Mo Xuanyu said, and Wen Ning nodded. “I mean, we’re not – really helpful. We’re kind of all a bunch of crybabies. But whatever we can do, we will!”

“I appreciate that,” Nie Huaisang said. “Also, don’t underestimate crybabies.”

He smiled.

“We’re a lot more dangerous than you might think.”